


The Girl That Counted

by MissErikaCourt



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-03-16 02:39:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 20
Words: 92,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3471293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissErikaCourt/pseuds/MissErikaCourt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly has just started a new relationship with Jim, the new guy in IT at Bart's, while she tries to suppress her feelings for Sherlock Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just to clarify, rape is mentioned and heavily implied, but there won't be any smut in this story. I hope everyone enjoys and please, leave comments to let me know what you all think. =)

Molly was so excited at the chance to make Sherlock jealous. He'd been consumed by the case he was currently working on, hardly paying attention to anything around him, but she knew this would get his attention, it had to. She grinned and clutched the hand of her new office romance. His name was Jim Noble, and he had just started working in the IT department at Bart's. She never thought that she would meet anyone that would make her feel remotely close to the way she felt about Sherlock, but this man gave her hope. She had been enamored with him since she first saw him, and he actually knew that she existed! She was so excited to introduce Jim to Sherlock that she couldn't help but smile and pull her new boyfriend down the hall and into the lab that Sherlock was working in. They burst through the doors and found John Watson standing over Sherlock's shoulder as he peered into a microscope. Sherlock didn't look up when they entered, but John nodded and smiled his hello to Molly.  
“Here he is, just like I promised. Jim, this is Sherlock Holmes.” Molly beamed as she squeezed his hand and smiled up at him. Jim had expressed the fact that he was a huge fan of Sherlock's, that he had followed all of his cases and read John's blog to keep up on the latest developments. He was absolutely thrilled when Molly had told him she could introduce the two of them.  
“And John Watson,” John said in an exasperated voice, “nice to meet you.”  
“Yes, hello.” Jim started with a ridiculous grin. “I know all about the two of you. I read your blog all the time, Dr. Watson. So you're Sherlock Holmes? Are you on one of your cases?”  
Jim could hardly contain himself, he was talking a mile a minute. John seemed genuinely flattered by the fact that Jim kept up with what he and Sherlock had been doing, but Sherlock didn't even seem to know that Jim was in the room until he said his name.  
“Jim works in IT upstairs, that's how we met, office romance.” Molly bragged, smiling and tilting her head to one side as she gazed affectionately at Jim.  
“Gay.” Sherlock said under his breath. Molly only hoped that Jim hadn't heard what he'd said.  
“Sorry, what?” Molly asked in a confused tone.  
“Nothing, um, hey.” Sherlock looked up from his microscope only for a brief moment to glance at Jim and offer his greetings before returning to his work, obviously bored with niceties and meeting people. Jim moved around Sherlock, edging his way past John to get a better look at what the consulting detective was working on when he bumped into the table and turned over a small pan that Sherlock had sitting on the desk. Sherlock rolled his eyes as Jim bent down to collect the contents and the pan and place them back on the table.  
“Sorry, sorry!” he said, righting his mistake. “Well, I better be off. I'll see you at The Fox, about six-ish?” He asked toward Molly. Molly nodded and smiled as Jim turned to walk out of the room.   
“It was nice meeting you.” Jim said before he went through the doors. Sherlock made no reply, so John answered for him.  
“You too.” He said, nodding in the direction of the retreating man, then looking over to a very scorned looking Molly Hooper.  
“What do you mean gay?” Molly asked, a rather angry inflection on her last word. “We're together.”  
“And domestic bliss must suit you, Molly. You've put on three pounds since I last saw you.” Sherlock retorted, never looking up from his work.  
“Two and a half.”  
“Mm. Three.”  
“Sherlock...” John interjected, but Molly was right back at Sherlock before John could say another word.  
“He's not gay, I think I should know.” She replied smartly, raising her chin proudly.  
“With that level of personal grooming?”  
“Because he puts a bit of product in his hair? I put product in my hair.” John shot back, trying to help Molly out and keep Sherlock from being a complete git.  
“You wash your hair. There's a difference. No, no. Tinted eyelashes. Clear signs of taurine cream around the frown lines, those tired clubber's eyes.” Sherlock had finally looked up from his work, an annoyed look plastered on his face as he explained his deductions. “Then there's his underwear.”  
“His underwear?” Molly asked in confusion. How in the world would Sherlock know about that?  
“Visible above the waist line. Very visible. Very particular brand. That plus the extremely suggestive fact that he just left his number under this pan here,” Sherlock broke off, picking up the pan that Jim had knocked off the desk and producing a telephone number with the name Jim written in beautiful cursive handwriting, “I'd say you better break it off now and save yourself the pain.”  
Molly just stood there for a moment, taking in everything that Sherlock had just said. She knew for a fact that Jim was, in fact, very not gay. The fact that Sherlock had the audacity to say such things to her was ridiculous. Usually he was spot on about everything, but he was very wrong about this. She didn't know what else to say, so she just let out an exasperated sigh and stalked out of the room without another word to Sherlock. She was desperately, madly in love with that man, but sometimes he absolutely infuriated her. She didn't know why she was even trying. She knew that she could never find someone that she would love as much as she loved Sherlock, and that was a depressing thought. Molly had loved Sherlock for four years, ever since they had met, and he never seemed to even notice her unless he needed something from her. She was determined to make whatever she had with Jim last, as her mother kept telling her 'your biological clock is ticking', and that didn't help at all. She was left to brood for the rest of the day, with only the thought of meeting Jim later to give her the slightest hope that her mood might improve.  
After work Molly had run home to shower and cleanse herself of the smell of corpses, she didn't have much time before she had to meet Jim so she was rushing herself. She had just left the bathroom for her bedroom, clad in only a towel with her hair done up in another, when she heard a knock at the door to her small flat. She walked down the hall and through the small sitting room to looked out the peep hole and see who might be calling on her, she didn't have time for this. She was surprised to see Jim standing outside holding an enormous bouquet of red roses. She smiled to herself and opened the door, shielding herself behind it so that no random passers by might see her in only a towel and ushered Jim inside.  
“I wasn't expecting you to turn up here, I thought we were meeting at The Fox.” Molly said fondly, feeling a little exposed.  
“I couldn't wait to see you, and I'm glad that I stopped by now.” Jim purred in that wonderful Irish accent that he had. He thrust the roses toward Molly with a big smile on his face. “I bought these for you.”  
“You didn't have to do that.” Molly returned his smile and took the bouquet with one hand, holding up her towel with the other. She leaned in for a moment and gave Jim a peck on the cheek. “They're beautiful.”  
“Beautiful flowers for a beautiful woman.”  
Molly blushed and walked into the kitchen to find a vase, then filled it with water and placed the flowers in. “I'll go get dressed. I won't be a moment.”  
“No rush.” Jim replied, making himself at home on the brown leather sofa that sat in Molly's sitting room. Molly rushed off to her room and closed the door behind her, quickly trying to decide what she would wear. She didn't go to clubs often, so she wasn't quite sure what people wore to those places. Jim was, as always, dressed nicely in a black suit that accentuated his broad shoulders. He wore a plain white shirt underneath and a slender black tie. His fashion sense was similar to Sherlock's, perhaps that's another reason why she liked him. Usually Molly wore loose fitting jumpers and a plain skirt or khakis, but she decided that she needed to look a bit more presentable tonight. She dug through her wardrobe and finally found a form fitting red number that she hardly ever wore. Her mother had bought it for her so that she could 'go find a nice man', that alone was enough for Molly to exile it to the back of some forgotten drawer, but tonight felt like a perfect night to wear it. She quickly dressed herself and put on a little makeup, then dried her hair and let it fall in tousled curls over her shoulders. She grabbed a black shawl out of her wardrobe and slipped on a pair of black heels and headed for the sitting room. When Jim saw her the expression on his face could only be described as disbelief. He clearly hadn't thought that Molly was capable of dressing this way.  
“You look absolutely stunning.” He said, pushing himself to his feet and striding over with confidence to take Molly's hand and place a kiss on the back of it. Molly blushed again, he had a way of making her do that.   
“Thank you. I thought, since you dressed so nicely tonight, I should probably try and do the same. I don't have many nice clothes, but I hoped this would be sufficient.”  
“More than sufficient.” Jim said, holding out his arm so that Molly could loop hers through. He escorted her down the stairs and out of the building she lived in where a posh looking black car waited for them. A man stood beside the open door to the back seat and waited for the two of them to enter, then closed it gently behind them and climbed into the driver's seat. Molly was taken aback. Did Jim have the money to afford all of this extravagance? She didn't think so, or else he wouldn't really need his job at Bart's. Where was all this coming from.  
“You've really pulled out all the stops tonight.” Molly commented as she ran her hands over the smooth, tan leather of the seats inside the car.  
“I wanted to impress you.” He answered, gently taking her hand into his and holding it as they rode to their destination.  
“Well, I'd say you've done that much, at least. I wasn't expecting so much this evening.”  
“I'm just full of surprises.” Jim smirked. When they finally arrived at the club they waited for the driver to open the door and exited the car. Jim held out his arm in the same fashion he had when they were leaving Molly's flat and she took it happily. She felt like she was a celebrity walking down a red carpet into some grand event. Sherlock would never do something like this for her.  
“Thank you, Sebastian,” Jim said, turning to the tall, dark haired man that had opened their door. “I'll let you know when we're ready to leave.”  
“Yes, sir.” Sebastian answered, then climbed back into the driver's seat of the car and drove away.  
Molly had never been to The Fox Club before, but it was apparently a rather nice place. No wonder Jim had been dressed so well, she was glad that she decided to spruce herself up instead of wearing the white blouse with red flowers and a pair of khakis like she had planned. Her current ensemble was much more fitting for a place like this. When the pair walked into the club they were immediately met with greetings by the staff and one of them escorted the couple to a nice looking table that was sectioned off from the rest of the club with a red velvet rope. Inside the rope there was a beautiful looking black velvet sofa that wrapped around a black table. There was an ice bucket with a bottle of very expensive looking champagne on the table and two beautiful, slender champagne flutes sat beside it. When she agreed to this date, Molly had expected to be met by loud thumping music and masses of writhing bodies on a dance floor, but everything she had experienced so far had been the complete opposite. She took a seat on the (very comfortable) sofa and Jim sat beside her, draping his arm around her shoulders and lounging lazily in his seat.  
“What do you think?” Jim purred into Molly's ear. The music was classy, but just loud enough so that Jim had to get very close to Molly for her to be able to hear him.  
“This is...amazing.” Molly said breathlessly as she looked around the room they were sitting in. “I don't mean to sound rude, but...how can you afford this? I didn't think the salary of an IT guy at Bart's would be enough to support a lifestyle like this. You told me this was your favorite club.”  
“Well, I have a bit of money saved. My parents were rather wealthy and, upon their unfortunate deaths last year, their whole fortune was left to me. I still try to live a normal life, but I felt like splurging on you.” Jim answered, the hand that was draped over her shoulders brushed her cheek softly as his deep brown eyes seemed to peer into her soul.  
“You don't have to do that.” Molly smiled and blushed, it was nice to have someone that she liked actually pay attention to her, for once, but this Jim seemed distinctly different from the 'Jim from IT' that she introduced to Sherlock earlier in the day. His suave sophistication intimidated her, whereas Jim from IT had felt friendly and warm and welcoming. She hadn't been intimidated by Jim from IT, but this Jim was a whole different story, perhaps even a whole different person.  
“I want to.” Jim said softly. “I want to show you how much you matter to me.”  
“You don't have to spend money on me to show me that.”  
“I just want you to have a good time.” Jim said, withdrawing his arm from Molly's shoulders and reaching for the bottle of champagne on the table. “This is one of my favorite vintages.”  
Jim popped the cork and Molly jumped and made a small squeak as he smiled and poured the golden liquid into the flutes on the table. He handed one to Molly and she took a sip, giggling as the bubbles rising from her glass tickled her nose. Jim smiled that genuine, beautiful smile and took a sip from his own glass, closing his eyes and savoring the taste.  
“It's really very good.” Molly said, taking another sip and leaning closer to Jim. He repositioned his arm where it had been before and let her cuddle into his side, staring out at all the other people that were entering the club.  
“Do you like to dance, Molly?”  
“I'm not very good, but I dance occasionally. I haven't really had anyone to dance with, lately.” Molly answered. She was surprised at how fast she was drinking the champagne that had just been given to her. Already, half of her glass was gone.  
“Well, now you do.” Jim replied, taking another drink from his glass and then placing it on the table and pushing himself up from his seat. He stood in front of her and held out his hand. Molly took another, rather large, drink of her champagne and placed her glass on the table beside Jim's, then took his hand. He lead her out to the dance floor and took her into his arms, she could tell just by his stance that he was a more than accomplished dancer and was embarrassed that she wouldn't be an adequate partner for him. Luckily for Molly, she didn't have to do much work. Jim guided her around the dance floor with ease. They spun and glided around the room as if they were floating, and Jim never once took his eyes off of Molly's. She had to admit to herself that she was having a great time, no one ever did things like this for her, and it was nice to feel like someone was actually trying. At the end of their dance, Jim suddenly dipped her back and planted a gentle kiss on the side of her neck, then pulled her back up and smiled at her.  
“You're quite the charmer, you know.” Molly smiled as he lead her back to their table. She polished off the rest of her, now slightly warm, champagne and Jim poured another glass for her, smiling at her statement.  
“I just want you to have a good time, you deserve that much. I know how much you've pined after Sherlock Holmes, it's quite obvious observing your interactions with him.” Jim stated as he took up his glass again. Molly blushed, why did everything always lead back to Sherlock?  
“Well, I can't deny that I've had feelings for him, but if we're being completely honest, I quite fancy you.” Molly blurted subconsciously. Did she really just allow herself to say that out loud? Maybe she should slow down on the champagne.  
“I also observed that.” Jim smiled, pulling her closer to him. “I also know that Sherlock hardly ever looks at you, and that's unfair. You should have someone that wants you, that wants to impress you and do things like this for you. I wanted to show you a good time, because I know that Sherlock, and all the other incompetent gits you've dated, haven't ever showed you how much they admire you. Although, I'm fairly certain that Sherlock isn't capable of admiring anyone but himself, just going from first impressions.”  
“I really have been having a wonderful time. No one has ever done something like this for me, you're right about that, and I really appreciate it.” Molly smiled and pressed a light kiss to Jim's cheek, which got a smile from him in return.  
“That's exactly what I was going for.” Jim answered. “Now, we'll have some food coming soon. I hope you're in the mood for duck a l'orange.”  
“I've never had duck before,” Molly admitted. “but it sounds wonderful.”  
The two of them sat chatting idly for a while, discussing hobbies and sharing stories of their pasts before their food finally arrived. A beautiful, whole duck, decorated with orange slices and zest covering the top, sat on a large platter in the middle of the table. Molly's mouth watered a bit just at the smell of it as the waiter carved portions of the duck and placed them on plates in front of Molly and Jim. Once he was done slicing the whole duck, the waiter left them to their meal. It was like nothing Molly had tasted before. The duck was dark and juicy and the sweetness of the oranges complimented the meat perfectly. She tried not to scarf the meal down as quickly as she could, but in her slightly tipsy state, food was hard to do in moderation.  
The meal, and the bottle of champagne, was exhausted quickly after it arrived and Molly was happily buzzing beside a much less intoxicated Jim. Molly hadn't had much alcohol, of late, and the three glasses of champagne that she had left her quite inebriated as they ended their evening together. She couldn't help but giggle at every witty thing that Jim said as they left the club and waited for Sebastian to bring the car back to the front of the building. Jim had his arms around her waist, partly because he had to help hold her up in her drunken state, but also because they'd been nearly inseparable all night. Molly had her arms loosely around Jim's neck, pressing her body against his, somewhat involuntarily, and staring up into his big, brown, intoxicating eyes. As if she needed anything else to intoxicate her tonight.  
“If I didn't know any better, I'd think that you were trying to get me drunk tonight, Jim.” Molly said with a smile as she laid her head against Jim's shoulder.  
“You may be right about that.” Jim smiled back, leaning down and placing a gentle kiss on Molly's lips. She smiled against him and tightened her arms around his neck before they broke apart as the car pulled up. He smiled down at her as he opened the door and she clumsily crawled into the back seat.  
“Destination, sir?” Sebastian asked from the front of the car as Jim climbed in and Molly proceeded to lean against him.  
“My place tonight, Sebastian.” Jim answered as he took Molly's hand into his and began tracing small circles on it with his thumb. Molly enjoyed the sensation and smiled, closing her eyes as she leaned against the wonderful man that had shown her such a fantastic time tonight.  
“I've had a very nice time with you tonight, Jim.” Molly confessed, slurring her words only a bit more than she expected. She was getting so tired, alcohol had that effect on her.  
“I'm glad to hear that.” Jim answered, still tracing circles on her hand. Molly drifted off to sleep at those words only to be woken up, what seemed like seconds later, to be escorted into Jim's residence. They had arrived at a rather large house, but Molly couldn't glean the details of the outside in her inebriated state, plus it was rather dark out. She let Jim lead her inside the door and up the stairs to a bedroom, also dark. She wasn't sure if she trusted Jim enough not to take advantage of her while she was like this, but it wasn't like they hadn't done things like that in the past. They'd been seeing each other for about three weeks, and there had been some intimacy between the two of them, but never when Molly didn't want it. She decided to relax as he pulled the duvet and blankets on the bed down and laid her in their place. The softness of the mattress and the sheets beneath her felt so good that she almost immediately drifted off into a joy induced sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

The light coming through the sheer curtains of the room Jim had taken her to the night before was enough to wake Molly, and she wasn't happy for it. Her head pounded to the beat of her heart as she opened her eyes, squinting at even the faintest light. She peeled back the covers on the bed to notice that all she was wearing was one of Jim's button down shirts, she wondered how that had happened but decided she would worry about it later. She sat up in the bed to find a note on the bedside table, along with two small white pills and a glass of water.

 

 

_I thought you might need these. When you're ready, come down to the kitchen for breakfast._

_Jim_

 

__

Molly smiled to herself as she downed the pills and drank the rest of the glass of water before climbing out of the bed. She hadn't brought any other clothes with her, but upon searching through a rather large walk-in closet in the corner of the beautifully decorated room she found a dark green, silk dressing gown, that she assumed belonged to Jim, and put it on, tying the sash tightly around her waist. She took a moment to admire the room before she left. The bed was a huge, canopy style bed with heavy, drooping blue curtains that were tied back with brown ropes. The wood floor felt warm beneath her feet and complimented the color of the bed frame and the dark blue walls perfectly. She smiled for a moment and walked out of the room and down a long hallway until she found a spiral stair case that lead to the first floor. She only had to wander around for a moment before she found her way to a huge kitchen that had black and white checkered floors and matching black marble counter tops. Jim was standing, with his back toward Molly, facing a large stove where he was cooking something.

“Good morning.” Molly said quietly as she padded up to the counter and leaned against it. Jim turned and smiled at her, his hair was still disheveled from sleep and he wore a light colored dressing gown, his bare chest barely peeking through at the top.

“Good morning, Miss Molly, did you sleep well?” Jim asked, taking a step toward the counter that Molly leaned against and leaning over it to kiss her forehead. Molly smiled stupidly at his gesture.

“I did, I can't say that I feel wonderful this morning, though. Too much to drink.”

“You were quite intoxicated last night. I took the liberty of making you a bit more comfortable so you could sleep last night, I hope that's okay. I promise I didn't do anything but put you into something you could sleep better in.” Jim explained turning back to the stove to tend to the omelet that he was making before Molly had come in.

“Thank you for being a gentleman, I didn't have a doubt in my mind that you had been.” Molly was lying, only a bit, she had wondered if anything more had happened last night, but she knew that Jim wouldn't lie about something like that. At least she thought she knew.

“I had Sebastian go out and buy some new clothes for you, just so that you don't have to wear the same thing you wore last night when you go home later. I hope you don't mind.”

“Thank you, Jim, for everything you've been doing for me. You really know how to treat a girl.”

“I try my best.” Jim answered as he pulled a plate from a cabinet above his head and slid the omelet onto it, then presented it to Molly, along with a fork. “I hope you're hungry.”

“To be honest, I feel kind of horrible.” Molly answered, staring at the omelet and wondering if the smell would make her retch or not. Jim frowned a bit, but took the plate back with a shrug and dug into the omelet himself.

“Your clothes are in a bag in the room you slept in last night. You can shower upstairs and I'll have Sebastian take you home. I'd love to enjoy your company more today, but I have some things I need to attend to, you understand.”

“Of course. Thank you again, for everything.”

“Don't mention it, Molly.” Jim answered without so much as a glance in her direction. Molly decided that a shower would feel remarkable and left the kitchen to do just that. Once she was back upstairs, she rooted around the room she had stayed in to find a, rather large, black bag that looked like it had come from some fancy shop. She opened it to reveal clothes that looked like they could have cost well over the amount of money that she'd spent on her entire wardrobe all together, and it was only a pair of jeans, some sensible shoes, and a swoop neck red shirt. She sighed a bit at the thought of all the money Jim must have spent on her in less than 24 hours and took the bag to the bathroom, which was also rather large. There was no tub, but there was a large shower stall that had two shower heads, one on each side, perfect for when two people needed to be in the shower at the same time. She looked around for towels for a moment before finding them in a large closet and set them on a dual sink that had a large mirror in front of it.

Once she was finished showering and had donned the clothes that Jim had bought her (the jeans were a little tight for her taste, but she supposed Jim would like them) she walked back down the stairs and found Jim sitting in an elegant sitting room. There were two red velvet sofas that faced each other with a coffee table sitting in between them. The rest of the room was done in white, except for the mahogany wood floors that complimented the sofas. There was a small fire burning in the hearth that sat off to the left. She walked in cautiously and sat down on the sofa beside Jim.

“Thank you for all your hospitality, Jim. I've had a wonderful time with you.” Molly said, placing a hand delicately on his right leg.

“You're very welcome, Molly. I would love to spend more time with you, but I have very important matters to attend to today, and if you don't hurry, you'll be late for work. Sebastian knows the way there, he'll make sure you arrive safely. I've also taken the liberty of sending that dress you wore last night to the dry cleaners. The shoes you wore are already in the car that will be taking you to work. Have a nice day, Molly.” Jim seemed distant as he rattled off everything he wanted to tell her, not like the Jim from last night at all. Something had changed since last night, he'd seemed off all morning, not the sweet man that showed her such a wonderful time the night before. She decided she would take a chance and leaned in for a kiss, he kissed her back but there was something about it that didn't feel right today. Maybe he had too much on his mind. She decided not to think about it and murmured her goodbye, then walked out the door where Sebastian was waiting for her.

The drive to work was agonizingly long, all Molly could do was think about how cold and distant Jim had seemed this morning. She thought for a moment that it was because she had done something wrong, but she couldn't recall doing anything that would have put him in that kind of mood. She needed something to work on, something to busy her mind and her hands so that she didn't have to think about the state of her relationship with Jim. Maybe Sherlock would come round today, that always kept her mind occupied.

Sebastian had made a scene outside of Bart's, she had hoped that he wouldn't insist on getting out and opening her door and calling her ma'am, but he'd done it, and in front of Mike Stamford. She blushed and thanked Sebastian and then tried to hurry into the building before anyone else could see what had happened and how she'd arrived at work that day.

“Blimey, Molly, what's that all about?” Mike asked, hurrying up to her to walk into the building. He had a hard time matching her quick pace.

“Um, well, I went out with Jim last night and he wanted to make sure that I got to work without incident today.” Molly answered, trying to be as vague as possible. Jim had told her that he tried to live a normal life, despite having (apparently) a ton of money at his disposal.

“Jim? Jim Noble? Jim from IT?” Mike seemed like he didn't have any words to describe the thoughts that were going through his head. Molly just rolled her eyes and pushed through a door and into the hospital.

“Yes, that Jim. Listen, I really don't want to divulge the matters of his, or my, personal life so that everyone in the world can hear them. He just wanted to make sure I got to work safely, and that's that.” Molly answered sternly.

“Sorry, Molly, I didn't mean to pry.” Mike apologized immediately, realizing that he was probably being a tad inappropriate. “You look nice today, by the way.”

“Thank you, Mike.” Molly answered, she didn't feel like she needed to tell him that her ensemble for the day had been a gift from Jim as well, he probably already assumed. She rode the lift down to the morgue, on the basement floor of Bart's, and went into the locker room to grab one of the long white lab coats that she always wore when she was at work. Normally she left it unbuttoned, but she felt a bit worried that she might get some horrible liquid on the nice, expensive clothes that Jim had bought her. However, she didn't have a body to work on just now, so she decided she would leave it open to show off her new ensemble until then. She only felt a little self conscious about how tight and form fitting the clothing was, she never dressed herself like this. It wasn't that she was ashamed of her body, but when you're working with dead people all day, you don't really need to look that good.

She'd gone into her office when she heard the doors to the morgue swing open, she felt a little bit of excitement at the thought that it might be Jim coming to visit her. She walked out of her office with a smile plastered on her face to find Sherlock and John striding quickly toward her. Sherlock stopped and got an odd look on his face and John mimicked him, gawking at her, without either of them saying a word.

“Hello?” Molly said in a quizzical fashion. Something seemed to have caught them off guard.

“Molly, you look...different.” Sherlock said, finally seeming to be able to find words.

“Thank you.” Molly replied, unsure if that was supposed to be a compliment.

“Good different.”

“I think he's trying to compliment you.” John finally chimed in from behind his dumbfounded friend. “You do look rather good today, Molly.”

Molly blushed a bit and strode forward so that she was at a more suitable distance for having a conversation with someone, feeling more confident about herself since Sherlock Holmes had just given her a compliment (kind of).

“What brings you boys here today?” She asked.

“I was wondering if the results of my lab tests had come in yet.” Sherlock answered. He seemed distracted, but not in his usual 'I'm on a case' way. His eyes kept lingering on her and then jumping away, as if he was inwardly punishing himself for looking.

“I've only just got here, but let me go check.” She walked back into her office to look at her computer screen and found that there were, indeed some lab results. She printed them out quickly and walked back out to meet the two men that stood awkwardly in the middle of her morgue. It seemed like they had been talking about something they didn't want her to hear, and quickly stifled themselves when they saw her walking back out.

“Molly, were you with a man last night?” Sherlock suddenly, and inappropriately, asked as she handed him the test results. John stood gawking at him, this time, and quickly gave Molly an 'I have nothing to do with this' look.

“I don't think that's any of your business., Sherlock.” Molly answered, crossing her arms firmly over her chest.

“I just want to confirm my suspicions. You've got expensive new clothes, you seem to be in a particularly good mood, and it seems like you might have a bit of a hangover. Those are all the symptoms of having a new, male friend that saw the need to splurge on you. That and the fact that you introduced me to Jim yesterday, and seemed very upset when I told you he's gay.”

“He is _not_ gay!” Molly shouted, she hadn't meant to shout but Sherlock was making her furious, just like he always did.

“Well, you would probably know better than I, but all the clues to suggest that he is are there.”

“Are you jealous?” Molly suddenly snapped. She heard John snicker in the background.

“Why on _Earth_ would I be jealous?”

“All the clues to suggest it are here.” Molly snapped, mimicking Sherlock's previous statement. Normally she wouldn't be able to be so bold around Sherlock, but he'd made her so mad that she couldn't just stand idly by.

“That's ridiculous, Molly. Why would I be jealous that you have a new boyfriend? You're simply my pathologist.”

“Your pathologist?” John asked with a grin on his face.

“ _The_ pathologist,” Sherlock corrected, a scowl forming on his face.

“Well, if I'm only the pathologist then why are you asking me so many questions about my love life? That might lead people to believe that you're interested in me, and jealous that I've found someone else that I really like.” She added that part in to see if she could get more of a reaction from him, but it hadn't seemed to work. Sherlock had steeled himself to this situation, as he often did, and distanced himself from whatever feelings he may have had when the two of them started their conversation.

“Thank you for my lab results, Molly. John and I are very busy and we'll have to be going now.” Sherlock said, without answering the question that Molly had posed him. He turned on his heel and John just stood staring from him to Molly in awe of what had just happened.

“I'll see you around, Molly.” John said with a smile, then jogged off to catch up with his friend's quick pace.

 

Almost the whole work day had passed and Molly still hadn't heard from Jim, and that was a bit odd. Usually he would text her throughout the day, just idle chat but Molly enjoyed the attention, but today he hadn't sent a single one. She decided to send one herself at lunch, but it had elicited no reply and it was beginning to worry her. She sat in her office, drumming her fingers on the desk where her phone lay, just waiting for something. She'd finished all her work an hour ago and had no idea what else to do except wait for her sodding phone to buzz and alert her that her boyfriend had sent her a text.

Molly finished her work day and went back to her flat, never hearing from Jim, but she had accepted that he probably just needed his space and decided to otherwise entertain herself for the night. She'd ordered Chinese in and played with her cat, Toby for a while before starting a movie that she was only half interested. It was late, and she was sipping one last cup of tea before bed when someone knocked on her door so loudly that it sent a thrill of fear through her. She quickly paused the movie and got up quietly to move over to her door and look through the peep hole. She found a very disturbed and dangerous looking Jim on the other side of the door, he smirked as he noticed that she was looking through the door at him.

“Come on Miss Molly, open the door for me.” Jim said in a tone to match the wild look in his eyes. She wasn't sure if she should obey him, but decided that she was being silly and opened the door. He swept into the flat as soon as she even cracked the door, pushing his way in and shoving Molly back with the door. This was a side of Jim that Molly hadn't seen in the time she'd been involved with him, and it was frightening.

“Jim, it's late, I wasn't expecting you.” Molly said timidly as she pulled her open dressing gown closed over her chest. After he'd come to a halt in the middle of her sitting room his gaze had been raking over her in a way that made Molly uncomfortable.

“I just...had to see you, Molly.” Jim's voice had lowered an octave, which was even more terrifying as he slowly made his way closer to her. She was backed up against the door in no time, Jim's body pressed firmly against hers.

“It's nice to see you too.” Molly answered, although at the moment she wasn't enjoying his company. Something inside this man had changed over night, and she wasn't quite sure how to deal with it.

“I was just thinking about you, the way you looked last night.” Jim's hands came up to rest on Molly's waist, pulling her closer and crushing their bodies together. She tried to resist, but he was too strong, his fingers dug into her waist. “I was thinking about how I wished you wouldn't have passed out, I had much more fun activities planned.”

“I-I'm sorry...” Molly managed to stammer out before Jim's lips were crushing themselves against hers. She pushed him back, but that only deepened the scowl he was wearing before. He grabbed her wrists in an iron grip and slammed her back against the door, causing her head to make forceful contact. A whimper escaped her lips as she winced.

“You should be sorry!” Jim yelled the words only inches away from her face and she squeezed her eyes shut and turned her head to the side. Jim suddenly jerked her by her wrists away from the door and toward the hallway where her bedroom was. Molly tried to struggle away, but his grip was too firm, and he was far too strong for her to break free.

“What are you doing?” She asked in a frightened tone. “You're scaring me.”

“Good.” Jim replied as they reached the door to her bedroom and he tossed her inside, making her stumble and fall to the floor. “You'll do well to keep that thought in mind.”

He slammed the door behind him and forced himself on her. She cried and struggled the whole way through, but he didn't seem to care. This was not the man that Molly had met three weeks ago, that man would have never done the things he did to her that night.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Jim had left in a rage after he'd finished with Molly, leaving her a scared and sobbing pile in the corner of her bedroom. He'd torn her favorite pajama shirt and broken the lamp that set on her bedside table in the process, but he hadn't cared one bit, and he especially didn't care about the emotional damage he'd caused her. He simply used her and left, not even bothering to close the door to her flat in his rush to leave the premises. Molly didn't know what to do, something like this had never happened to her before. Call Sherlock. That was the only thing that kept running through her mind, and she couldn't figure out why. Maybe it was because she trusted him, but she wasn't quite sure why that was the truth. It took her a moment to gather herself enough to push off of the floor, don a dressing gown, and stumble her way down the hall to the sitting room. She closed and locked the door to her flat and sat herself gently on the brown leather sofa, taking up her mobile from the coffee table and dialing Sherlock's number. She couldn't stop her sobs, even though she knew she'd have to find some way to talk through them. Sherlock answered surprisingly quickly.

“Molly? It's almost four in the morning, why are you calling me so late?” The consulting detective's deep baritone rang through her speakers and comforted her, if only a little.

“Sherlock...” Molly almost whispered, her voice raw from her sobs. “Something's happened...”

“What's wrong, Molly?” He asked, a genuine tone of concern in his voice.

“Jim...he...” she paused, trying to find the right words to say to make Sherlock understand without using the one terrifying word that was on the tip of her tongue. “I need someone to be with me.”

“I'll be there presently.” Sherlock answered quickly and ended the call. Molly clutched her knees to her chest as the tears still fell freely down her cheeks. She couldn't stop herself from thinking about everything that had just happened. Jim had seemed so polite, he'd been a gentleman the night before, how could he have changed so drastically and quickly? Had it been something she'd done?

It only took five minutes before she heard the knock on the door, a much softer knock than she'd heard previously. She checked to make sure it was Sherlock and opened the door quickly when she confirmed her suspicion. Sherlock immediately looked concerned when he saw the state of her.

“What happened to you?” He asked as he walked in the flat and closed and locked the door behind him.

“Jim came here, about an hour ago...he just left. He wasn't himself, at least not the person that I've seen for the past three weeks, certainly not the person I saw last night. He...he forced himself on me...he did horrible things...” Molly tried her best to explain before her sobs took over her ability to speak once again. Sherlock scanned her and noticed ligature marks on her wrists and throat, and anger bubbled up inside him.

“He raped you.” Sherlock stated more than asked, but Molly nodded anyway. He didn't know how to handle crying people, especially after they'd just encountered a trauma, and was doing an admittedly bad job at being a comfort, if that's what Molly had called him here for. He took a few steps closer and reached out his hand, surprised as Molly winced away from him as if she were expecting a blow. “I just want to look at your hands. May I?”

“Yes.” Molly answered, holding out her hands to him and watching as his long fingers gently traced the marks on her wrists where Jim had restrained her. He'd also nearly choked her to death with a rope around her throat, at the moment she almost wished that he had, that might be better than what she actually endured.

“You need a doctor.” Sherlock said suddenly. “Luckily, I know one.”

“Sherlock...I don't....I don't know...”

“Nonsense, Molly, you need a doctor, and one that you can trust. You also can't stay here, he may come back and I don't think your mental state will bode well if that happens. I'll help you gather your things and you can come to 221B with me.”

“I just...can't believe that he would do something like this. I thought he cared about me.” Molly admitted, wringing her hands nervously and staying in a defensive, slumped position.

“You'll be safe with John and myself. Let's go get some of your belongings and go to Baker Street. I'll tell John we're on the way.”

Molly nodded and retreated to her bedroom, no matter how hard that was for her at the moment, the thoughts of what had just happened there were flooding her mind and it was almost too much for her. She heard Sherlock talking on his mobile with John as she stuffed some clothes and other necessities into an overnight bag and changed into something more suitable for going outside, then walked back to join Sherlock, who was waiting patiently for her in the sitting room.

“I didn't know who else to call.” She admitted, her tears had dried but all the feelings were still there, floating around in her mind, making her numb to the outside world.

“I'm happy to help.” Sherlock said, he was staring out the window of the cab that they'd just climbed into with a solemn expression on his face. “And I promise you, Molly Hooper, he will never hurt you again.” 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

It had only been slightly awkward to let John examine her and make sure nothing had been too badly damaged after her encounter with Jim, but she had decided it was for the best, and at least she wouldn't have to let a stranger do it. John had been very delicate and aware of what she was feeling, and Molly felt comforted by that. At the end of the exam he'd given her a pill that would prevent any unwanted pregnancy, Molly couldn't remember a few details about what had happened and the two of them decided she'd be better safe than sorry. Once all that was done, John guided her back to the sitting room in 221B where Sherlock sat plucking at the strings of his violin in his black leather chair. He was immediately attentive to her when she walked in the room, escorted by John.

“My room is down the hall, Molly, you can sleep there. I won't be needing it tonight and besides, you need sleep more than I do.” Sherlock said, his gaze never quite meeting hers.

“Thank you.” Molly said after Sherlock had made his statement, but it was really directed toward both of the men that were in her company. John assured her that it was no problem at all and retired back to his bedroom upstairs, leaving Molly alone with Sherlock. She looked at him a moment and then went to stand in front of him. “What are you thinking about?”

Sherlock was taken aback by her question, no one normally asked him that.

“My case.”

“You're lying.”

“If you really must know,” Sherlock started, finally meeting Molly's brown eyes with his own blue-green ones. “I'm thinking about how I can make Jim Noble pay for what he's done to you.”

Molly gaped at him for a moment. She'd had the feeling that Sherlock was jealous when he'd come to visit her before, but now he was being down right protective. It was strange to her that Sherlock would do something like this, he'd certainly never done it before.

“I don't want to be alone. I don't think I can sleep” She said finally, after a long silence.

“You can stay in here if you like, but you really should get some rest.” Sherlock answered, placing his violin gently back into the case and closing the lid.

“I don't know if I'll ever sleep again.” Tears were renewing themselves in her eyes as she thought about what had happened for at least the thousandth time that night. It just kept replaying in her mind, she feared it would never go away.

“You don't need to be afraid anymore.” Sherlock said, pushing himself out of his seat and moving closer to Molly, placing his hands on her elbows. She shivered a little at his touch, not ready for human contact, but she couldn't help letting herself collapse into his, somewhat unready arms. He wasn't quite sure what to do in a situation like this, but decided that hugging might be a good start. Molly really was in shambles, he'd never seen her like this, and he hoped he would never have to again. Brief thoughts of homicide crossed his mind, but were quickly pushed away, he wouldn't let himself be that person, he'd have to bring Jim down the old fashioned way, just like he always did. Molly sobbed against his chest for a few moments longer before she quieted herself, but still clung to him for comfort. He was glad that he could help in any small way, but hadn't expected anything like this.

“How's your case?” Molly suddenly asked, taking Sherlock by surprise, she never moved from her spot snuggled against his chest. The two of them just stood awkwardly in front of his chair in a never ending embrace.

“I've received another message. I'll have to talk to Lestrade about it at some point. I believe he arrives at work at seven.” Sherlock answered.

“Work.” Molly realized suddenly. “I still have to go to work.”

“I don't think you're in any condition for that.”

“It would do me some good, I think. If I keep letting myself think about what happened I'll never be able to put it behind me.”

“If you think that's best.”

“We both have things we need to do. Please, don't let me stop you.”  
“I want you to come back here when you're done with work.” Sherlock demanded, pushing her back gently so he could look at her, but also because he couldn't hug any longer. “Jim knows where your flat is, but he doesn't know where mine is. You'll be safe here until we can apprehend him. Will someone else be in the morgue with you today?”

“There's an intern coming in today, I think his name is Jake.”

“Good, you can't be left alone anywhere that Jim can find you. If you need me, give me a ring.” Sherlock said as he sat back in his chair. Molly went to sit in the chair that she could only assume was John's and watched as Sherlock took up his violin again. He'd become accustomed to not actually playing while John was supposed to be sleeping.

“What songs do you know?” Molly asked, gesturing to the violin Sherlock was holding as she pulled her knees up to her chest.

“Classical music, mostly, but I compose as well.” He answered shortly.

“Will you play some for me, later, I mean.”

“If you like.”

“I love the sound of the violin. I'm sure you're an adept player.” Molly complimented Sherlock without even thinking about it. He smirked, but said nothing else. Molly had tried to keep a conversation up, but she'd inevitably been lulled to sleep by Sherlock's quiet plucking and how comfortable she was in the chair she was sitting in. The alarm on her mobile woke her two hours later and she had somehow ended up in a bed that she could only assume belonged to Sherlock. When she got up and tried to exit, she noticed that the door had been locked. She turned the lock and opened the door, comforted by the fact that whoever had put her there had locked everyone out of the room as they exited. She assumed it had been Sherlock, but she supposed she would never really know for sure. She was still exhausted from being up for most of the night, but found a tray with freshly made tea sitting out on a table in the sitting room when she walked in. Sherlock seemed like he hadn't moved from the spot he'd been in when she fell asleep, but John was in the chair she had occupied previously.

“Good morning, Molly. How are you feeling.” He asked as she stumbled sleepily into the sitting room and took one of the cups from the tea tray.

“Very tired, but feeling a bit better than before. Thank you, John.” Molly gave a small smile as she replied and watched as Sherlock stood, took up the bow to his violin and began to play a selection by Bach. She wasn't sure of the exact one, but it was beautiful all the same. Molly sat in the black leather armchair that Sherlock was in the night before and sipped at her tea while she listened to the soft voice of the violin carry itself through the flat. Sherlock moved the bow over the strings with such precision, just as he did everything else in his life, it produced a flawless sound. Molly allowed herself to close her eyes as she held the steaming cup in both hands, letting the sound of the violin completely overcome her every thought. This was definitely the most effective way to get rid of all the horrible images that had been swimming through her thoughts and pushing their way into her dreams. All too soon, the melody ended and Sherlock walked back over to his chair and perched himself on the arm, not asking Molly to move from her place.

“That was beautiful, Sherlock.” Molly said, once again speaking without a filter. Sherlock nodded his thanks at her compliments and leaned his violin against the table that the tea tray sat on.

“Are you sure you want to go in to work today?” Sherlock asked, not making eye contact with Molly.

“I think it's for the best. I need to keep my mind busy, I can't do that just sitting around.” Surely someone like Sherlock would understand a sentence like that.

“I can go with you, if you like.” John's voice chimed in as he lowered the newspaper he'd been reading and looked past the frames of his reading glasses to regard Molly. She simply smiled and shook her head.

“Sherlock needs your assistance more than I do, John. I promise the two of you, I'll be fine. Now, I'm going to go get dressed and then I'll be off.” She said

“We'll ride with you.” Sherlock started. “I have business at Bart's today, anyway. It would be silly for us to take separate cabs.”

Molly had, somewhat reluctantly, nodded her agreement to Sherlock and John riding with her to Bart's and retired to Sherlock's bedroom to get herself ready for the workday. It was odd being in his room, especially since it so well reflected his personality. The room was messy, but not a disaster, countless dressing gowns and expensive looking items of clothing were haphazardly hung around the room on the corners of drawers and doors and odd trinkets and knick knacks adorned any flat surface that they would sit on. If anything captured the essence of Sherlock Holmes, it was the messy- but also somehow organized- room that he called his. She donned a pair of opaque stockings, a knee length denim skirt, and a formless white jumper with little red flowers dotting it all over, and exited Sherlock's room to meet her two escorts. John had put on his coat and Sherlock his signature belstaff and scarf by the time she made her way back into the sitting room. They all went down the stairs together and Sherlock hailed a cab and climbed in first, Molly sat in between the two men once they'd gotten in. She wasn't used to being this close to Sherlock, but the slight brush of his leg against hers and the warmth of his body in the closeness of the cab reassured her that she could make it through the day.

Once arriving at Bart's John and Sherlock escorted her the rest of the way to the morgue before finally agreeing to leave her side to accomplish whatever they'd come here to do. Sherlock was reluctant to leave her before the intern got there, but she assured him that she would be fine, and that if she needed him, she could always give him a ring. He seemed dissatisfied with that answer, but he had left her to start her day's work regardless. She had only just begun to pull out a body in need of autopsy when she heard the doors to the morgue swing open again.

“Sherlock,” she started, not even looking up from the paperwork that she needed to look over before beginning her autopsy. “I told you I would be fine.”

“Hi there, Miss Molly.” A familiar voice sounded from across the room and sent a shiver down her spine. The hairs on the back of her neck stood erect as she lifted her gaze to find Jim standing in the doorway with a devilish smirk on his face. She felt like she couldn't breathe as she took in the image of the man standing in her morgue, dressed in a well-tailored gray suit with matching tie. She swallowed hard as he began to take steps toward her. She had to do something, and fast, she didn't know why he was in her presence again, but it couldn't be anything good. She reached her hand into the pocket of her lab coat and quickly found the 'redial' option on her mobile. The last person she had called had been Sherlock, and this would be the way that she let him know that she was in trouble.

“W-what are you doing here?” Molly stammered as Jim still made his way toward her. She hadn't had the time to get the tools of her trade out so that she could perform the autopsy- meaning she would have no weapon to grab- from now on she would make that the first thing she did.

“I had to come and make sure you were alright. I know I was a bit...demanding last night.”

“That's one way to put it.” Molly replied with a stern tone, she wouldn't let him bully her into submission, not this time. If she had to, she would scratch his eyes out before she let him force himself on her again. Hopefully Sherlock and John would be here before something like that happened, though.

“I won't apologize for what I did, that was the price you paid for not compensating me for everything I did for you the night before. Honestly, Molly, that was the picture of a romantic evening, and I have nothing to show for it.”

“I'm sorry I'm not as cheap a date as you're used to.” Molly snapped, gripping the clipboard she'd been holding so tightly the her knuckles turned white.

“Not cheap at all.” Jim's voice suddenly bore a very hostile tone and his pace toward her quickened a bit. _Please hurry, Sherlock_. She thought as she watching him stride toward her purposefully.

“You see,” Jim's voice had gotten lower, reduced to almost a purr. “I've come to realize that I really need you in my life, no matter how much of a pain you were that first night. I've come to enjoy your company, Molly, and I certainly enjoyed our activities last night. Of course, I'd love for you to come with me willingly, but I'm beginning to see that might not be an option. I'm prepared to drag you out of here kicking and screaming, but that would draw too much attention, and it could get you hurt.” The smile that spread itself across Jim's face at that moment was one that could have turned any living being to stone. A smile so devilish and full of the most horrible intentions, it made Molly's breath catch in her throat.

“I don't have any intentions of seeing you again, Jim. I'd like to stop our relationship, but I suppose that's not something you're going to accept.”

“Of course not!” Jim's anger flared and he yelled the words at her, the smile that was on his face moments before vanished and turned to a scowl. “But I suppose it can be held off, for the time being. You seem to have called for help, and I'm not ready to be apprehended so soon. You'll be hearing from me, Molly.”

Jim smiled and blew Molly a kiss before turning and leaving the morgue. Molly exhaled a sigh of relief that he had gone, but she felt her knees buckling out from under her as she realized just how much trouble she could possibly be in. Jim was clearly not sane, and that terrified her. She only had a few moments to herself before she heard rushed footsteps coming down the hall and Sherlock and John burst in the doors of the morgue panting to catch their breath.

“You've just missed him.” Molly managed to say as she sat her clipboard on a stainless steel table and walked toward the two men that had just come to her rescue, and a bit too late for her liking.

“What did he want?” Sherlock asked breathlessly as he scanned the morgue for any type of clue.

“He said he wants me. He wants to take me and make me his...I don't know...play thing?” Molly explained what she had gleaned from her conversation with Jim before he had left.

“Do you know where he went?” John asked, pacing around the lab and checking every corner for threats.

“He turned right when he left the morgue, probably took the opposite lift of the one the two of you used to get down here. I'd say he's probably long gone. He's got a house somewhere in London, but I don't think I could get you there. I was a bit...well...drunk when he took me there the other night and fell asleep in the cab on the way there. I wish I could help.”

“You don't worry yourself Molly, we'll find him.” John reassured her as he stopped his pacing to stand by Sherlock.

“Molly, I don't want you to go anywhere without John or myself being with you, at least not in public. You can stay at 221B by yourself if you want, but today proves that you aren't safe anywhere outside of the flat. Jim still doesn't know where we live, and that means you'll be safe there. Do you wish to finish out your work day or can you tell Mike Stamford that you need to leave?” Sherlock stated so quickly that Molly was surprised she could keep up.

“I want to help in any way that I can. If you need me to go back to your flat with you, I'll go.” Molly stated firmly.

“Then I could use your help, John, please inform Mike that Molly isn't feeling well and needs the rest of the day off. I'm sure he can find someone that's half competent enough to come and fill in for Molly while she's gone.” Sherlock half ordered and, with a slight frown, John did as he was told. Molly had almost not expected that kind of response from the consulting detective. Usually he didn't allow anyone to help, because that was the same as getting in his way, as far as he was concerned. Molly smiled a bit and thought she might hug him, but she was able to control her urges for the time being. The hug that they'd shared in his flat, although because she was in a fragile mental state, had been something that she never thought would happen. She enjoyed it, despite the facts of what had just happened, and was thankful for the fact that he could comfort her, despite his own second thoughts about the act.

Molly gathered what little she had brought with her from her office and walked back out to Sherlock, who was patiently waiting in the same spot he'd been standing in since his arrival in the morgue. She couldn't help but smile at him, and he looked puzzled when she did so, but returned a small half-smile as Molly clutched the strap of her handbag. Wordlessly, they walked out of the morgue together and to the lift that would take them to the ground floor of Bart's to wait for John to finish what he'd been instructed to do.

“Sherlock,” Molly started as the doors to the lift closed. He regarded her out of the corner of his eye, but said nothing. “I just wanted to thank you for everything you've been doing for me. You really don't have to go to all this trouble to help me out.”

“I want to protect you, Molly.” Sherlock turned toward her and she swore she saw some hint of sincerity in his eyes. “If anything like what you endured last night ever happened to you again, I don't think I would be able to forgive myself.”

“It's not your fault that it happened. Jim is just...not who I thought he was.”

Sherlock looked thoughtful for a moment, as if he was going over every inch of what she'd just said. Surely he couldn't think that what had happened to her was really his fault. He'd done nothing to instigate her encounter with Jim. His eyes met hers and she felt a flush creeping up her neck as he spoke. “I just don't want anyone to hurt you again.”

She couldn't help herself anymore, she reached out and flung her arms around Sherlock's neck, no doubt catching him off guard, and buried her face in his chest as she hugged him tightly to her. She could feel him tense and then relax as his arms clumsily found their way around her to return her embrace. She hadn't even noticed that the doors to the lift had opened and John was staring, wide eyed at them, never saying a word.

“Yes, well, are we ready to go back to Baker Street?” Sherlock asked nervously as he shrugged Molly off of him and exited the lift. There was a collective nod and they all went out to get in a cab when Molly remembered something.

“Toby.” She said quickly, stopping in her tracks.

“Toby?” Sherlock asked from a few steps in front of her.

“My cat. He's been alone in my flat since Jim...” she trailed off, not wanting to vocalize what had happened. “If it's not too much to ask, that is, if you don't care...could Toby stay with you as well? At Baker Street? I promise he'll behave himself. You won't even notice him.”

“Somehow I doubt that last bit, but I don't see why he couldn't reside in Baker Street while you're there. I wouldn't want you or he to form some kind of separation anxiety.” Sherlock answered. So, instead of going to Baker Street when they entered their cab, they told the cabbie to head to Molly's flat. She excitedly bounded up the stairs and unlocked her door to see her flat exactly as she'd left it when Sherlock and John had come to get her. She always missed her Toby, even if she was just gone for a day, and he always returned the favor. When Molly entered the flat Toby was waiting at the door to rub himself against her shins, just as he always did after she returned from being gone. She lifted him into her arms and stroked the orange fur on his little head, scratching behind his ears as he purred his greetings.

“I've missed you too, Toby boy.” Molly said lovingly as she searched for the carrier that she transported him in and placed him inside. She gathered some of his food and his favorite toys while John and Sherlock stood quietly at the door to the flat. Once she was satisfied with the amount of items she'd picked up for Toby, she met the two men back at the door and they all filed back down the stairs and made their way to Baker Street.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Toby had made himself right at home inside 221B, but right at home seemed to entail regularly sleeping in Sherlock's favorite chair. At first, Sherlock had seemed annoyed by that development, but it seemed he'd gotten used to it as the days passed. Molly hadn't expected Toby to take to Sherlock so quickly, but it was like the little orange tabby had grown up with Sherlock. Usually her cat shied away from unknown people, but he really seemed to feel at home around Sherlock as well as John, and the little orange cat prowled around the flat like he'd lived there his whole life. His food and water dishes had taken up residence in the kitchen beside the table where Sherlock did his experiments most of the time, and Molly was finding it increasingly difficult to tear the two from each others sides. Once, Molly had walked into the sitting room to find Toby curled up on Sherlock's lap, purring as Sherlock's hands steepled under his chin. As soon as the two of them noticed her presence in the room, though, Toby jumped down and Sherlock pretended that nothing had been out of the ordinary.

“I never pegged you as a cat person.” She smiled as she strode over to sit in John's armchair, he'd gone out for the day to follow up on a case that he was basically working for Sherlock, something to do with a man found dead on railroad tracks.

“Yes, well, I find that he helps me to think sometimes.” Sherlock replied, never once looking Molly in the eyes.

“Have you found anything else out about Jim?”

“I've been a bit busy with this bomber who keeps kidnapping people. One of the hostages tried to describe him to me over the phone and, needless to say, that didn't end well for her. Whoever this man is, he doesn't want me to know his identity. It's like he thinks this is a game.” Sherlock rattled off the thoughts that had, no doubt, been streaming through his mind moments before. Toby jumped onto Molly's lap and she stroked down his back as he made himself comfortable and curled into a little ball.

“So, no closer to getting either of them?” Molly heard a slight twinge of blame in her voice and immediately regretted it. She hadn't done it on purpose, but Sherlock picked up on it, just as he always picked up on everything.

“I assure you, Molly, I'm trying my best. I promised that I would catch Jim, and I will. You've been safe in my flat for the past week, and you'll remain that way until I'm absolutely sure that you're no longer in danger.

“You haven't slept since I arrived here. I can sleep on the sofa if you want your bed. I really don't mind.” Molly offered, shifting a bit in her seat and getting an annoyed look from the sleeping cat on her lap.

“I don't need sleep.” Sherlock answered, waving a hand dismissively.

“You do. You can't stay awake forever just because you've offered your bedroom to me.”

“I want you to be comfortable during your stay here.”  
“And I'll be just as comfortable knowing that you're not keeping yourself up every night just to ensure that I'm comfortable. Besides, if you won't sleep then I'll just have to start staying out here with you.”

“Please, Molly, you're being ridiculous.”

“If you don't sleep, I don't sleep.” Molly resolved firmly. Sherlock just stared at her for a long moment, obviously trying to find some way to satiate her need for him to sleep in his own bed.

“I won't force you to sleep on the sofa, so I guess we're at a stalemate.” Sherlock said just as firmly as Molly had her previous sentence. Molly couldn't believe what she was about to suggest, her cheeks burned just at the thought of it, but she couldn't allow Sherlock to go on depriving himself of his basest human needs.

“If you won't let me sleep on the sofa then I'll continue sleeping in your room, but you have to promise to join me at least three times a week. If you won't let me sleep on the sofa and you won't sleep on the sofa yourself, then you'll have to come and sleep in your own bed with me.”

“I didn't think you would be comfortable with that.” Sherlock said in a voice that sounded almost childlike.

“I'm not comfortable with you not sleeping. It's either this or I'll refuse to sleep, just like you're doing now.”

“Fine.” Sherlock rolled his eyes and agreed to the proposal that Molly had laid in front of him. She'd noticed over the time spent in 221B that, if she was adamant enough about something, she could always get Sherlock to let her have her way. She smiled triumphantly as she stroked the sleeping cat in her lap and Sherlock took up his violin and started plucking away at the strings.

“will you play one of your original pieces for me?” Molly asked, hoping that she wasn't interrupting some long train of thought.

“Perhaps another time. I'm busy at the moment. I've got a lot to think about recently, with two separate cases going on at the same time. You understand.” Sherlock answered, shooting down Molly's request.

“Sure.” Molly answered, she knew that was her cue to stop talking. Usually Sherlock didn't mind her idle chatter but there were times, when his mood was particularly black, that he would sometimes verbally lash out at her for talking too much. He probably didn't mean anything by it, but sometimes it struck a deep rooted fear into her.

Molly sat with Toby in John's armchair for a long time before she decided to make tea. She had almost asked Sherlock if he cared for some, but decided she would just make enough for two instead. Usually when Sherlock was done brooding he would say something, if only one word, to let his companions know that he was able to have conversation again, but that hadn't happened yet. She shooed the sleeping tabby off of her lap and brushed his hair off of the khakis she'd been wearing, then padded softly into the kitchen to put on the electric kettle that sat on the counter. Toby brushed himself up against her leg, indicating that he wanted food in his bowl, and Molly happily poured a bit of kibble for the purring feline. She then readied the tray with all of the necessities for tea, placing it on the counter next to the kettle.

“Molly,” Sherlock started and Molly looked up from what she was doing in the kitchen. “when you introduced Jim to us, you said that he was a big fan of mine.”

“Yes, he hardly ever stops talking about John's blog. He likes a good mystery.” Molly answered, pouring the steaming water from the kettle into the teapot and closing the lid.

“The bomber that I've been dealing with also says he's a big fan.”

“You can't possibly think...”

“They're the same person.” Sherlock finished Molly's sentence without a second though, placing his violin back in the ever-open case that sat beside his chair. Molly gaped at him, not sure what to think.

“But...the person you're after...his name is Moriarty.” Molly stammered, not believing that the Jim she had known could possibly be a madman/bomber/killer. Then again, he had showed some horrible aggression toward her that night he showed up at her flat.

“People can assume aliases, Molly.” Sherlock shot back, pacing the room. Suddenly, something dawned on him and he turned to face Molly as she carried the tea into the sitting room, two cups ready for tea sat on the tray. She felt uneasy at the way he was looking at her and crossed her arms over her chest.

“What is it?” She asked, looking back at Sherlock as he stood frozen in time.

“He's using you.” Sherlock said in almost a whisper.

“I thought that was fairly obvious...”

“No, Molly, he's using you to get to _me_.”

“Why would he think that would work? I don't count.” Molly said, her eyes falling to stare at her bare feet. Before she knew it, she saw the shining leather of Sherlock's shoes in front of her feet, she looked up to see him standing so close to her that she could feel his breath on the tip of her nose.

“You have always counted.” Sherlock said, slowly and gingerly as he reached out and took one of her hands in his. She could feel a flush creeping over her face as she stared into his beautiful blue-green eyes. “Jim Moriarty is just the only person that's smart enough to see it.”

“I don't understand.” Molly said, flustered at the feel of her hand in his, their fingers intertwined.

“Why do you think I go out of my way to come to the morgue? I don't enjoy staring at corpses...” Sherlock started, but Molly gave him a knowing look that made him reconsider. “Okay, maybe I do enjoy staring at corpses and running experiments, and all the other nonsense reasons I give you for coming to see you. However, the truth still remains, I enjoy your company, Molly Hooper. I've always enjoyed your company. You're smart, you're kind, you're basically every human thing that I'm not, which is probably one of the reasons that I can't show you all of this. My life is dangerous, and I can't pull you, or anyone else, into it.”

“You pulled John into it.” Molly said breathlessly. Was Sherlock Holmes confessing his _attraction_ to her? That didn't seem likely, but that was certainly what it sounded like.

“John is different. John has been in the military. For God's sake, John saved my life on the first case we ever went through together. I would have taken that damnable pill, and he knew it, he didn't see another way to save me than shooting the cabbie that had taken me there. John can take care of himself, but you're fragile.”

“Fragile?” Molly questioned. She wanted to pull her hand away and slap him, but somehow she couldn't bring herself to do it. “I can take care of myself too!”

“Which is why Jim was able to force himself on you.” Sherlock retorted. That was enough for Molly to wrench herself free of his grasp and stalk away from him, but she didn't want to leave the room yet. Sherlock knew that his statement had gone too far as soon as Molly moved away from him, but he seemed like he didn't know how to remedy the situation he'd gotten himself into.

“I'm weak, so you feel like you need to protect me, is that it? Is that the only reason that you brought me here, so that you can _babysit_ me?” Molly shot back, anger filling her features.

“No, I mean yes, but it's not the only reason you're here. I want to protect you, Molly. I want to know that you're safe no matter what. That night that you called me, I knew that something was wrong as soon as I saw your name on my screen. When you told me what had happened...you don't even want to know the thoughts I had. I wanted to kill him. I wanted to hunt him down and strangle him and watch the life leave his eyes because of what he'd done to you.” Sherlock stopped and Molly swore that she saw the glimmer of a tear in one of his eyes. He recomposed himself and started again. “The thought of that man laying another hand on you makes me absolutely sick. I want you here because I know that you're safe, but also because...”

Sherlock stopped talking and Molly closed the distance between them, any animosity between the two of them had been dispersed in the few minutes that it took Sherlock to explain himself, and Molly was clinging to him desperate for an embrace. He obliged and Molly stood up on her tiptoes to plant a gentle kiss on his lips when john came through the door.

 


	4. Chapter 4

“Um...” John was flabbergasted. He had something in mind to say when he walked in the door of 221B, but what he saw when he entered completely took him by surprise, knocking every other thought out of his mind. It took Molly a moment to realize that John was standing there, gaping at herself and Sherlock locked in a tender embrace, and of course there was the kiss. John's brow knit as if he were thinking hard about something. Molly and Sherlock pulled away from each other almost immediately after the realization that they had company. Sherlock strode to the window, hands clasped behind his back and Molly went into the kitchen to find her dignity.

“I hope I wasn't...interrupting?” John had intended for that to be a statement, but it came out as more of a question, as if he couldn't believe the words as they were leaving his mouth.

“Don't be ludicrous, John. Molly and I were simply...” Sherlock started but was cut off by his friend.

“Snogging?”

Molly inadvertently let a small squeak escape her lips before coming back into the sitting room with a package of biscuits and a red face. She tried not to look at John but his gaze, and silly grin, followed her wherever she went in the now too small flat. Sherlock seemed like he, for once, couldn't think of a valid argument.

“It's okay,” John started, that same grin still plastered on his face. “I knew that was a long time coming. Do you want me to leave?”

“No!” Sherlock and Molly said simultaneously, and a little too quickly. John just chuckled to himself and took a seat in his armchair. Molly brought him a cup and saucer and he helped himself to the tea she'd made. Molly did the same and sat in Sherlock's armchair, but Sherlock didn't touch his cup.

“Getting anywhere with the case, Sherlock?” John asked after a sip of tea.

“Jim Noble and Moriarty are the same person.” Sherlock recited without emotion. John's eyes went wide for the second time since entering the flat. “He's using Molly to get to me, which is why he'd been seeing her previously and why he's apparently promised her that she'll be in his presence again soon.”

“Well, he can't find her here, he doesn't know where our flat is.” John answered, placing his cup down on a table before he dropped it out of shock, there had been quite a few astounding happenings since he'd entered the flat.

“I think we've severely underestimated him thus far, John. He's been here under our noses ever since A Study in Pink, how do we know for sure that he doesn't know where we live?”

“I guess you've got a point there.” John admitted. Molly's eyes shot up to look at Sherlock, although his back was still turned toward herself and John.

“You're not safe here, Molly.” Sherlock said suddenly, turning on his heel to look directly at her.

“You and John are here, that means I'm safe.” Molly argued, but Sherlock wasn't having it.

“We'll need to send you somewhere that he can't find. At least until we can catch him.”

“I'm not leaving.”

“Didn't you hear me?” Sherlock stalked toward her, stopping just in front of where she sat and knelt down to eye level. She'd expected a stern expression to be plastered on his face, but his eyes were full of pleading. “You're not safe here, Molly.”

“Didn't you hear me?” Molly was defiant. “I'm safe here with you and John, and I'm not leaving of my own accord. So, if you want me gone, you'll have to drag me out of here.”

“She's been safe here since Jim assaulted her.” John said, he had been adamant about not using the word 'rape' when it came to what Jim had done to Molly, even though that was the correct term for it. “Why do you think that's suddenly changed?”

All of the softness left Sherlock's expression as he turned to look at his flatmate, a scowl replacing the expression he'd worn when he was facing Molly.

“Whose side are you supposed to be on?!” He asked in an exasperated tone.

“One of us is always here with Molly, and now that we know that she isn't safe, we'll make sure to continue that. Jim won't try anything stupid while one of us is in the flat with her. She'll be safe as long as she isn't alone.” John argued and Molly was grateful. It wasn't only the fact that she _really_ didn't want to leave Sherlock now that she knew how he felt, but also the fact that she hated being drug around everywhere that made her not want to leave 221B.

“We can't move Toby again this soon, Sherlock. He won't adjust well.” Molly added her own argument, however weak, to the pile mounting against Sherlock's suggestion. He turned his scowl toward her now and closed his eyes with an exasperated sigh.

“Fine, but I will always be here with you.” Sherlock said, giving in to the demands of his friends. Molly smiled warmly as Sherlock perched himself on the arm of the chair she was sitting in.

“Now that that's sorted, I thought you might be interested to know what I found today.” John said proudly, digging into the pockets of his jeans and fishing out a small flash drive.

“The plans.” Sherlock breathed, striding over to take the flash drive from John's hands. John handed it over without incident and Sherlock marveled at it as he turned it between his index finger and thumb before tucking it into his own pocket.

“It was his fiance's brother that did it. I managed to get him to hand over that little gem when I threatened to tell his sister what he did. Mycroft will be elated.”

“Yes.” Sherlock answered shortly, obviously thinking about something.

“So, are you going to give it to him?” John asked suspiciously.

“Yes, of course, tomorrow. Much too busy tonight.”

“Busy with what?” John asked, but it was no use. Sherlock simply strode past his questioning friend and down the hall to his bedroom where he closed the door immediately after entering. Molly and John sat staring at each other for a moment before Toby broke the silence by mewling at John's feet. He reached down and picked up the little cat to place him on his lap. Molly loved how much John and Sherlock had taken to Toby, even if Sherlock wouldn't admit that he had.

“Should I try and talk to him?” Molly asked as she watched John tend to Toby.

“You can try, but usually he won't talk when he gets that way.” John answered. Molly knew that John was probably right, but she decided to try anyway. After all, she was sharing Sherlock's room with him now, so she had every right to be in there, just as he did. She padded softly down the hall and opened the door slowly, peeking inside before she fully entered. Sherlock was laying sprawled across his bed, his mobile held over his face as he sent a text message to someone. He quickly locked the screen and slid it back into his pocket when he saw Molly entering the room.

“What was all that about, then?” Molly asked, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

“Hm?” Sherlock pretended to be oblivious.

“You've obviously had some kind of idea.”

“What? No, I was just...thinking. I needed to think.”

“You're very convincing.” Molly said in a sarcastic tone.

“I need a shower.” Sherlock said suddenly, jumping up and grabbing a dressing gown from a door of his wardrobe and racing out the door. Well, that was a failure.

“Molly,” she heard John crying from the sitting room. “I've got to go out and get some milk, our has spoiled. Be back in a tick.”

Molly decided not to reply to John, but rather just let him go on his way. She sat on Sherlock's bed, and pulled her mobile out of her pocket and began idly scrolling through her Facebook feed when she heard a thump in front of her. She looked up to see a figure climbing into the second story window of Sherlock's bedroom. Pure fear ran through her veins like ice when she figured out who it was.

“Hello, Miss Molly, I told you that you'd be hearing from me.”

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All she could remember was trying to scream and alert Sherlock, or anyone, of what was happening. However, Moriarty was on her before she could even think, his hand clapped over her mouth and he drug her from Sherlock's bed with such fierceness that she thought he might break her in two. After that she'd felt a sharp prick in her neck and blacked out, and now she was here. She looked around blearily as she opened her eyes, trying to focus on her surroundings as she regained consciousness. The smell of chlorine filled the air and lights danced across the ceiling in slender tendrils.

“Welcome back to the world of the living.” Moriarty's Irish drawl rang through the building and echoed off the walls.

“Where am I?” Molly asked trying to raise her hand to her face before realizing that her hands and feet were bound tightly together with rope. She sat in a folding chair beside a rather large swimming pool. _What in the world is going on_?

“Don't worry about that, Molly. I'm sure Sherlock will be here presently.”

“What do you want with me?” Molly asked as Moriarty circled the chair she sat in. He stopped in front of her and stooped down, placing his right hand gingerly under her chin and forcing her to look at him.

“I told you, Molly, I want _you_. Just you. Well, you and to bring down Sherlock Holmes, but mostly you.” Moriarty smiled and placed a gentle kiss on her lips. She tried to jerk her head away before he could make contact, but his grip was firm.

“I thought I made myself clear when you came to my morgue, I don't want anything more to do with you.” Molly said firmly, struggling against her binds to no avail.

“You don't get a choice!” Molly jumped in her chair at the sudden loudness of Moriarty's voice, it sent chills through her as his gaze turned from somewhat warm to ice in a split second. He stared at her for a long moment before his expression softened again. “He'll be here soon. Be a good girl, Molly, and stay put.”

Moriarty sauntered past Molly and exited the room through a set of double doors behind her and left her to her own thoughts. Sherlock was right, she hadn't been safe in his flat. Who knows what Jim had done to her while she was unconscious, although she didn't feel like she'd been injured or abused after a quick mental check of her person. Not only was he right about Molly not being safe at 221B, but Sherlock was also right about Moriarty using her to get to him. He was obviously using Molly to lure Sherlock to a meeting place now, and she wished that she could find some way to warn him not to come. Who knows what will happen when Sherlock arrives, nothing good, that's for sure. Tears were actively forming in her eyes as she heard a door swing open and looked up to see Sherlock striding into the room. Their eyes locked and his pace quickened toward her before he stopped dead in his tracks.

“What are you doing? Come and untie me, he might be back any second!” Molly said frantically, picking up her struggle against the ropes that bound her once again. Sherlock's gaze was fixed on her forehead, and no matter how hard she tried she couldn't get him to look at her eyes.

“Evening,” Molly heard John's voice ring out from behind her and she struggled to turn her head to see him walking out from behind a wall dressed in a winter coat that was a bit too much for the weather they were currently having. “this is a turn up, isn't it Sherlock?”

“What's going on?” Sherlock's voice rang through the room.

“Bet you never saw this coming. What would you like me to make him say next?”

“Stop it.” Sherlock ordered, but John didn't stop. Molly was completely dumbfounded as to what was going on now.

“Nice touch this, the pool where little Carl died. I stopped him. I can stop John Watson too. Stop his heart.” The words were coming from John, but they weren't _his_ words. Everything clicked in Molly's head miles after Sherlock had understood.

“Who are you?” Sherlock asked, although Molly was fairly certain he had gathered who was doing this by now. Molly heard his footsteps before she ever saw him, Moriarty strode across the room to stand behind herself and John.

“I gave you my number. I thought you might call.” He smiled as he slipped his hands into the pockets of his black suit. “Is that a British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket, or are you just pleased to see me?”

“Both.” Sherlock said calmly, brandishing the gun that he had, no doubt, lifted from John's room while he was gone.

“Jim Moriarty. Hi.” His voice punctuated his last word perfectly and Molly could practically hear the smile in his words. “Oh, come on, Jim? Jim from the hospital? Huh. Did I really make such a fleeting impression? Then, I suppose that was rather the point.”

Sherlock's eyes flicked from Molly's forehead to John's chest, which Molly now noticed was covered with explosives. John's face was dripping with the stress he must have been feeling internally.

“Don't be silly,” Jim started again, walking out in front of Molly and John so that he could get a better view at the consulting detective. “someone else is holding the rifle. I don't like to get my hands dirty. I've given you a glimpse, Sherlock- just a teensy glimpse- of what I've got going on out there in the big bad world. I'm a specialist, you see. Like you.”

“Dear Jim, please will you fix it for me to get rid of my lover's nasty sister.” Sherlock recited with disgust in his voice, imagining what Jim Moriarty's clients might sound like propositioning him for his help. “Dear Jim, please will you fix it for me to disappear to South America.”

“Just so.” Moriarty grinned as Sherlock put it all together.

“Consulting criminal, brilliant.”

“Isn't it? No one ever gets to me, and no one ever will.”

“I did.” Sherlock spat as he aimed the gun at the consulting criminal.

“You've come the closest. Now you're in my way.”

“Thank you.” Sherlock said smugly.

“Didn't mean it as a compliment.”

“Yes you did.”

“Yeah, okay, I did. But the flirting's over, Sherlock. Daddy's had enough now.” Jim sang as his features grew colder. “I've shown you what I can do. I've cut loose all those people, all those little problems. Even thirty million quid, just to get you to come out and play. So, take this as a friendly warning, my dear. Back. Off. Although, I have loved this. This little game of ours. Playing Jim from IT. Playing with your pathologist. Did you like that touch?”

“People have died.” Sherlock said in a level tone, trying not to let his annoyance at Moriarty holding Molly over his head show.

“That's what people DO!” Jim yelled the last word, eliciting a start from everyone in the room.

“I will stop you.”

“No. You won't.” Jim smirked as Sherlock looked to Molly and John once again.

“Are you all right?” Sherlock asked both of them collectively. Neither of them spoke.

“The two of you can speak. Go ahead.” Moriarty granted the permission. John nodded and Molly broke down into tears at the realization of what was happening. Sherlock pulled the flash drive that John had given him earlier out of his pocked and offered it to Moriarty.

“Take it.” He said, tossing it to Jim who caught it with ease.

“Hm? Oh, that. The missile plans.” Jim kissed the flash drive and held it up for further observation before getting a disgusted look on his face. “Boring! I could have got them anywhere!” He tossed the flash drive into the pool to his left and smirked at Sherlock. At that moment, John made a move. He dashed over behind Moriarty quickly and put him in a headlock. Jim held his hands up, as if in surrender, and chuckled a bit to himself.

“Oh, good! Very good!” he said with a laugh.

“Just like that. Pull that trigger now, Mr. Moriarty, and we both go up.” John said solemnly. “Run, Sherlock, take Molly and run!”

“He's sweet.” Moriarty started as Sherlock took in the scene that was unfolding before him. “I can see why you like having him around. Then, people do get so sentimental about their pets. They're so touching and loyal, but oops! You've rather shown your hand there, Dr. Watson. Gotcha.”

Just as soon as Molly thought everything might be under control again, a little red dot appeared on Sherlock's forehead and John let go of Jim, backing away to stand by Molly's side. Jim smoothed the jacket of his suit and regarded Sherlock again.

“Do you know what happens if you don't leave me alone, Sherlock? To you.” Jim asked, walking forward so that the barrel of the gun Sherlock held was almost flush against his chest.

“Oh, let me guess, I get killed.” Sherlock said, unamused.

“Kill you? Ha, no, don't be obvious. I mean, I'm going to kill you anyway, someday. I don't want to rush it, though. I'm saving up for something special. No no no, if you don't stop prying, I will burn you.” Moriarty had a deep, primal tone to his voice, his features contorted into something almost inhuman. “I will burn the _heart_ out of you.”

“I have been reliably informed that I don't have one.” Sherlock answered flatly, trying his best not to look toward Molly or John.

“But we both know that's not quite true.” Moriarty turned to smile at Molly, then turned back to Sherlock. “Well, I'd better be off. So nice to have had a proper chat.”

“What if I were to shoot you now? Right now.” Sherlock asked, the gun still trained on the well dressed villain.

“Then you could cherish the look of surprise on my face.” Jim gaped and made his eyes wide at that statement, reinforcing the feelings behind his words. “Because I'd be surprised, Sherlock. Really, I would. And just a teensy bit disappointed. And, of course, you wouldn't be able to cherish it for very long. Ciao, Sherlock Holmes.” Jim said as he turned on his heels and stopped by Molly only long enough to press a kiss to her lips, no matter how much she squirmed against him, then looked back at Sherlock and strode through the doors he'd used to enter the room.

“Catch you...later.” Sherlock said, lowering the gun as Jim disappeared from sight.

“No you won't!” Jim sang, and then he was gone. Sherlock rushed over to molly and John and tore the vest of explosives off of John as he collapsed to the floor, then worked on loosing the binds that held Molly to her chair.

“Are you all right?” Sherlock asked John frantically as he finished untying Molly and pulled her into his arms. She was shivering from her fear and clung to him without a second thought.

“Yeah, I'm fine. Are you okay?” John asked. Sherlock and Molly weren't sure who the question was directed toward, but they both nodded as they looked at John. Molly still clung to the lapels of Sherlock's coat, as if she were afraid that she would float away if she didn't keep hold of something.

“What you did...” Sherlock started, uneasily looking around the room. “I mean, what you offered to do for me that was...good.”

“Glad no one saw that.” John added, a bit jokingly.

“Saw what?” Sherlock asked.

“You ripping my clothes off in a darkened swimming pool. People might talk.” The three of them laughed a bit.

“People do little else.” Sherlock answered before Molly felt his body tense. She looked at John to see that at least five little red lasers had adorned his chest and face once again. Molly could only assume that the same went for all of them. Sherlock tried to push Molly to safety and shield her with himself, but it seemed that there was nowhere they could go to get away from the lasers.

“Sorry boys! I'm soooooo changeable!” Moriarty's voice rang through the room again, drawing out his sentence in a sing-song voice. “It's a weakness with me, but to be fair, it is my only weakness. You can't be allowed to continue. You just can't.” Moriarty walked over to Molly and wrenched her out of Sherlock's grasp, pulling her toward the door. “I would try to convince you, but everything I have to say has already crossed your mind.”

“And probably my answer has crossed yours.” Sherlock answered, shooting a silent glance toward John and to Molly. He received a small nod from both of them and pointed the gun he held at the explosive vest that was now laying on the ground. Molly knew that this would probably be the end, for everyone, but at least she knew now that Sherlock had some kind of feelings for her. At least she got to know that before she died, even if it had only been mere hours before. She swallowed hard as she saw the concentration in Sherlock's face as he aimed at the bomb, willing himself to pull the trigger. Just when she thought that the anticipation couldn't get any worse 'Stayin' Alive' by the Bee Gees started ringing through the room. Sherlock looked to John and then around the room before his gaze fell back on Moriarty. Jim rolled his eyes.

“Do you mind if I get that?” He asked, digging into the pocket of his pants and producing his mobile, which was the source of the music.

“Oh, no, please. You have the rest of your life.” Sherlock answered, never taking his aim off of the vest.

“Hello,” Jim's voice bore a tone of irritation as he answered his mobile, still holding Molly firmly against him with one arm. “yes of course it is, what do you want?”

He listened for a moment, then Molly felt his whole body tense against her. “Say that again!” He yelled into his mobile. Molly squeaked and started, squeezing her eyes shut as Jim's fingers dug into her hip. “Say that again, and know that if you're lying to me I will find you, and I will skin you.”

Molly opened her eyes and looked at Sherlock's whose gaze was firmly fixed on her. His eyes seemed to convey the point that he was going to save her, that she just needed to be calm. Try as she might, she could not do as his eyes silently begged her. Jim walked forward a bit, dragging Molly along and looking at Sherlock, whoever was on the phone with him was still on the line.

“Sorry,” He said, a plaintive expression on his face. “wrong day to die.”

“What, did you receive a better offer?” Sherlock asked, the gun still pointed in Jim's direction.

“You'll be hearing from me, Sherlock.” Jim said, turning to walk away and dragging Molly by her wrist. She had almost given up that someone was going to do something when she heard Sherlock's voice ringing out behind her.

“What about Molly?” He asked.

“I told Molly that I wanted her to stay with me. That's what she's going to do.”

“We never agreed t-” Sherlock started, but was cut off by Jim's fury.

“We don't have to _agree_ to anything! I get what I want, Sherlock!” He yelled and Molly winced away from him, trying her best to wrench herself free of his grasp.

“Please, Jim, just let me go.” She pleaded, struggling against his iron grip. He turned his fury on her, then raising his hand and smacking her with the back of it. She saw Sherlock move to go forward, but John stopped him, the snipers were still trained on the two men and any attempt to move forward would likely end in their deaths. Molly fell to the ground as Jim's hand made contact, sobs racking her body as she pushed herself to a kneeling position on the wet tile. She felt Jim's hand entangle itself in her hair and yank up, forcing her back to her feet.

“You speak when you're spoken to, Miss Molly. Understood?” Jim asked, his face mere inches away from Molly's. She simply nodded as he released her hair, then grabbed her wrist and started pulling her away, pressing his mobile back to his ear. “If you have what you say you have, I'll make you rich. If you don't, I'll make you into shoes.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

Moriarty had snapped his fingers as he pulled Molly out of the room and the lasers that were trained on Sherlock and John had vanished. He could barely stand to remember the look of horror on Molly's face as she was made to leave the room, the way she looked back at him so pleadingly as if she were begging him to do something. If John wouldn't have stopped him from running to her aid when Moriarty struck her, he would have probably been a dead man, and Molly would have been no better off than she was at this very moment. At least, with Sherlock and John alive, Molly would have a chance at rescue. He felt, however, that it would take them too long to figure out where exactly she was.

“What happened there?” John asked, staring off at the door that Moriarty had just drug Molly through.

“Someone changed his mind.” Sherlock answered, handing the gun he had been holding to John, as it did belong to him. John checked the chamber and flipped on the safety before tucking the gun securely in the waist band of his trousers.

“What do we do now?”

“We find Molly Hooper.” Sherlock said firmly, his gaze never leaving the door that Molly had disappeared through. He knew it would be hard to do, but that had never stopped him before. Consulting detective was the title he'd given himself, if he couldn't find Molly he wouldn't deserve that title.

“Where do you suggest we start?” John asked as the two men finally started moving toward an exit.

“Molly said he has a house somewhere in London, but she couldn't remember how to get there. I'd imagine that if we file a missing person's report with Lestrade he could get the clearance to search real estate for the name James Moriarty. That should give us a solid location, or at least a place to start.” Sherlock answered, turning up the collar of his belstaff and shoving his hands into the pockets.

“We'll find her, mate.” John said reassuringly as the two men tried to hail a cab.

“I know we will.” Sherlock answered. They climbed into the cab and went to Baker Street, there would be nothing they could do until the morning, and that thought sent terror through Sherlock's mind. He tried going to his mind palace, to block out the events that had just occurred, but all he saw there was Molly, with her long chestnut hair and big, brown doe-eyes. She'd taken over the whole place, it was no good. He snapped back to reality right as John opened the door to exit the cab, and he followed somberly. Once back in the flat, Sherlock strode over to the window and stood staring out, trying to think of some way to calm his racing thoughts.

 

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The touch of Jim's hand was enough to send goose prickles all over Molly's body, and not in a good way. She tried to make as much room between the two of them in the back of the posh black car as she could, but it was no use, every time she scooted away Jim would just follow her. It was hard to imagine that there had been a time when Molly enjoyed his touch, because now all it caused her was pain and panic. Jim grabbed her hand, intertwining their fingers the way that Sherlock had only a few hours ago, she tried her best to imagine that it was him instead of the man that had raped her in her flat a few weeks ago, but it wasn't doing any good. His touch still made her blood run cold.

“It's so nice to have you back again, Molly. I've missed you.” Jim said, releasing her hand and moving a strand of her hair out of her face. She sat still, hoping not to provoke another attack like she'd endured at the swimming pool, she would have a nasty bruise for that act of defiance.

“I wish I could say the same.” She shot back, eyes blazing with fury.

“You've grown a spine while you've been away. That's something you didn't have before, I guess you pick that up when you hang around with Sherlock Holmes. Too bad you won't be seeing him anymore.” Jim made a mock frown as he continued to play with Molly's hair.

“I wouldn't count on that.”

“I would. You heard what I told him. If he keeps interfering, I'll burn the heart out of him. Do you know what that means, Molly?” Jim asked. Molly shook her head. “It means I'll kill you, and I'll kill his dear little pet John Watson, and I'll kill Mrs. Hudson the nice old landlady, and that pesky DI Lestrade that he works with. Then he won't have a love and he won't have any friends. He'll be all alone in this big bad world. Then what will become of Sherlock Holmes?”

“He's been alone before.” Molly argued, hoping that, even if the worst happened, Sherlock would still be able to go on. He'd lived without all the people Jim had named before, she didn't see why he couldn't do it again. Sherlock's mind was cold and calculating, whatever was in there that made him decide he didn't need friends before would kick in again if they were all gone.

“I'm afraid he won't be able to go back now that he's known what it's like to live with friends. How very ordinary of him.” Jim rolled his eyes and placed his hand on her thigh. Molly flinched but it didn't stop him from leaving his hand there. “Do you think Sherlock will try to find you?”

“I know he'll find me.” Molly answered firmly, her hands wringing in her lap as she wondered how long Jim would keep his hand where it was.

“I suppose we'll see. It'll be fun if he does, I've got it all worked out in my head.” Jim didn't remove his hand, but he also didn't say anything else for the remainder of their ride, which made it easy for Molly to drift off into her own mind, trying to think of a way to escape or to alert Sherlock of where she was going. She had been paying close attention to where the car had been taking her, mentally noting every turn and street sign until they reached the same large house that Jim had taken her to before. Sebastian halted the car and opened the door for Molly and her captor, seizing Molly's arm as she exited to ensure that she didn't escape. Once Jim was outside of the car as well, Sebastian loosed his grip and Jim took her by the wrist and lead her toward the door. She didn't struggle, she knew it would be a hopeless endeavor as long as the two men were close by. Sebastian left as soon as Molly and Jim had entered the large, two story Victorian home. Everything was exactly as Molly remembered it from her first visit, and she imagined that he would put her in the same room she had been in before.

“Welcome back, Molly.” Jim said with a smile, releasing Molly's wrist. She bothered at it with her other hand for a moment before dropping her arms to her sides.

“I'd say thanks, but I'm not happy to be back.” Molly answered.

“That's a sad shame, I so hoped you'd missed me.”

“How could you possibly expect me to miss you after what you did to me?”

“Oh come off it, Molly! You and I both know that you wanted me to do what I did, you were practically begging me for it the night that I brought you back here! My mother raised me to be a gentleman, though, so I did the honorable thing and left you alone that night. Taking advantage of an inebriated woman is against my moral code.”

“Moral code?” Molly spat the question as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing.

“You raped me! I'd say that would go against most people's _moral code_! Hitting a woman would also go against most people's moral code, but you don't seem to be bothered doing that either!” Molly's voice had risen and echoed through the large house as she chastised the man that stood before her. When she was finished he took two steps forward, invading her personal space, a dark scowl covered his features as he grabbed both her wrists with a force she had never felt before. She shrank back a bit, despite how defiant she was feeling.

“You're right, hitting a woman would seem wrong to most people, but you should know that I don't have the slightest problem with it, and if you continue to defy me, you'll find it out first hand.” He jerked her forward and held her tightly in place, his forehead against hers. “Do not test me, Molly Hooper, or you'll see just how immoral I can get.”

He pushed her away with such force that she slammed against the door they had just walked into and her knees buckled a bit before she was able to recover. He'd struck fear into her very core, which was exactly what he had meant to do. Her hands trembled as she drew them close to her body in a defensive manner while Jim scowled at her from across the foyer.

“Oh,” he started, the same hard tone in his voice. “don't bother trying to get out. I have men watching every door and window in this entire house. They won't hesitate to fire on you if they see you trying to escape, but don't worry, it won't be lethal. They'll knock you out cold and bring you right back here to me, and then you'll be punished, and I know you don't want that.”

Molly swallowed hard and shook her head, disgusted at the fact that she'd so easily submitted to him, and so quickly after she'd tried to stand up to him.

“Do I have to stay by your side every waking moment or can I be alone?” She asked cautiously, trying not to bring his wrath back down on herself.

“You can roam the house whenever you want. Our bedroom is the same one you stayed in before.”

“Our?”

“Of course. I told you I wanted you Molly. I fancy you, in case you hadn't noticed, so of course you'll be staying in my room with me.” Jim smiled. Of course that brought Molly nothing but dread. She would have been able to deal with the situation, barely, if she could have slept in her own bed. However, being forced to sleep in a bed with the man that had raped her wasn't exactly ideal. Who was she kidding, none of this was ideal at all. Jim must have seen the light drain from her eyes because he suddenly feigned sadness. “Don't worry, you'll learn to love me.”

With that, Jim turned away and sauntered off toward the kitchen and Molly stomped up the stairs to find the room that she had stayed in the last time she'd been here. When she entered the room she noticed that the closet door had been left open and upon glancing inside she found a whole new wardrobe for herself, all suited to what Jim liked to see her in. She knew the clothes would cling to her body and show off her curves and that only made her more scared about what would happen while she was here. She walked to the bed and let herself sink down onto the plush duvet that covered it, thinking about everything she'd been through. She couldn't stop herself from crying, no matter how much she wanted to keep herself brave. Sobs racked her body as she doubled over and let them pass freely from her lips. How could this be happening? All she had wanted when she entered a relationship with Jim was to get over Sherlock, and now she was in this mess. She'd never had particularly good taste in men, but this lunatic was the worst so far.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Sherlock burst into Lestrade's office without a second thought, not caring that he and Sally Donovan appeared to have been having a conversation, he'd waited long enough to employ their help. They stared at him with questioning looks as John hurried into the room behind him.

“Freak.” Donovan greeted Sherlock with her normal insult as he stood panting in the doorway.

“What's all this about?” Lestrade asked as he stood behind his desk.

“Molly has been taken.” Sherlock answered, trying to keep his tone flat and failing miserably.

“We've just had an encounter with Moriarty,” John explained. “he was working at Bart's under the alias of Jim Noble.”

“The same one that assaulted Molly?” Lestrade questioned.

“The very same.” Sherlock replied as he ushered John in and closed the door behind him. “Molly told me that Jim has a house somewhere in London, but she couldn't remember where it was as she was inebriated the last time she had been there.”

“So you need us to search databases to find homes owned by James Moriarty, I suppose?” Donovan chimed in with an annoyed tone to her voice. “We can't just answer your every beckon call, freak. We've got _real_ work to do you know.”

“If you're suggesting that finding a missing person is not _real_ work, then you should probably reconsider the choice of career you've made, Miss Donovan. I'm not in the mood to play this game with you. Now please, if you're going to be like this about a serious issue, leave before you make me angry.” Sherlock's voice had a hard edge, clearly from the stress that he'd been stewing in all night while he couldn't do anything to help Molly, his lack of sleep certainly hadn't helped, either.

“Is that a threat?” Donovan asked in an equally serious voice.

“I suppose you'd like that, wouldn't you?”

“Alright, alright! That's enough, both of you! I'll do my best to help you find Miss Hooper, but it could take time.” Lestrade chimed in with his usually irritated tone, Donovan shot him a look and stomped out of the room which elicited a sigh from Lestrade.

“The man we're dealing with is obviously insane. Murder and other violent acts are not beneath him, he's already hurt Molly on several occasions. Lestrade, I'm sincerely and humbly asking you...” Sherlock was cut off mid sentence by Lestrade.

“Humbly?” He questioned, puzzled by the fact that Sherlock could even use the word 'humble' when referring to himself. Sherlock scowled and continued.

“I'm sincerely asking you, please do not make her wait.” Sherlock was practically begging, which took both other men in the room by surprise. Sherlock never begged for other people's lives, or for help from others, for that matter.

“I'll put some of my men on it right away.” Lestrade answered, giving Sherlock an empathetic look.

“Not Donovan.” Sherlock added as Lestrade walked toward the door of his office.

“Not Donovan.” Lestrade replied and rolled his eyes. Sherlock followed him out.

“You have my number, when you find something, please let me know.”

Lestrade nodded and walked off into a few other offices to get people looking for Moriarty's house and Sherlock leaned against the frame of the door. John looked sadly at his friend, who was really having a rather hard time with the situation, wishing that he could do something to make it better.

“What now?” He asked as Sherlock raked his hands through his black curls.

“I suppose we wait. I hate not knowing what to do, John.” Sherlock rounded on him, his eyes burning with fury. “I know where Molly is and I don't. It's like he's waving her in front of my face.”

“That's rather the point, isn't it?”

“Yes. It's infuriating.”

John didn't know what to say anymore. In the time that he had known Sherlock Holmes, he'd never seen the man like this. Of course he got in dark moods every now and then, but this was something different entirely. Sherlock didn't know what to do and it scared him, and for once he was letting it show. Only to John, though, as soon as anyone else was in their company, Sherlock would put his mask back on and go on being the man that everyone thought he was. The thing that baffled John most, though, was that Sherlock was searching for Molly because he legitimately cared for her. He wasn't searching because someone had brought this case to him, but because he didn't want anymore harm to come to her. John didn't think that Sherlock was capable of having feelings for another human being, let alone a woman, but it seemed that was the case now.

The two men stood in Lestrade's office for a long moment, neither saying a word, before John heard a soft chime come from Sherlock's pocket. Sherlock drew his mobile from his trousers and his eyes grew wide with surprise.

“What is it?” John asked. Sherlock never took his eyes away from his mobile. “What is it, Sherlock?”

“It's a message.” Sherlock stated plainly, clearly holding back information.

“What kind of message?”

“I think it's from Molly.”

“What do you mean?” John asked cluelessly.

“She must have memorized my number. This isn't a number that I recognize, so it's probably Moriarty's mobile. Somehow she's gotten it to send me this text.” Sherlock handed his mobile to John to let him read the message.

 

_I hope this message helps, perhaps you can trace the mobile by GPS. If you come, please be cautious, he'll probably be expecting you if I can actually get this message sent. There are guards everywhere, watching every point of entry. Large, Victorian style, white with black shutters. Please come soon._

 

The message wasn't signed, but Sherlock and John both knew that it had to be from Molly. Hopefully she'd had enough sense to delete the message after sending it, but Sherlock didn't doubt that Moriarty would be able to figure out what she'd done somehow.

“She's desperate.” John mumbled sadly, handing the mobile back to his friend.

“Wouldn't you be?” Sherlock asked, then ran out of Lestrade's office calling the Detective Inspector's name. “Lestrade! We need a trace on this number!”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Molly hadn't thought that Jim would be absent minded enough to leave his mobile unguarded with her while he showered, but she had been wrong. He'd left his mobile on a desk that sat against the far wall in the room that they shared, and as soon as he left she pounced on the device, typing in the number that she remembered to belong to Sherlock. She quickly penned her message, her hands shaking the whole time, and made sure it sent before deleting the evidence. She was just getting ready to place the mobile back where she found it when Jim walked back into the room, a towel draped lazily around his waist.

“Oops, forgot my...” Jim stopped talking as he realized what Molly was holding, the lighthearted expression he wore a moment before turning into pure anger before Molly's eyes. “What have you done, Molly?”

“I...I was just...” Molly stammered, not able to find an excuse for how guilty she looked. Jim cleared the distance between them with three quick steps and his hand was tangled in her hair, pulling her toward the bed before she could even blink. He threw her down and knelt over her, restraining her by her wrists with only one hand.

“What. Did. You. DO?” Jim yelled in her face, causing her to flinch into the mattress with every word. “If you won't tell me now, I'll get it out of you a different way.”

“I...” Molly started, tears streaming from her eyes as she battled with herself, trying to decide what she should do. Jim's grip on her wrists was so tight that it hurt. “I was going to call the police.”

“You're lying!” Jim grew angrier with every passing moment, but she couldn't tell him that she'd contacted Sherlock, that would ruin his plans, and he wouldn't take kindly to that. “If you don't tell me what you did I'm going to hurt you.”

“You've already done that.” Molly growled. Jim removed himself from the bed and went into the large, walk-in closet, emerging with a long nylon rope. He'd put on a pair of pajama pants, but still bore his bare chest, as if in a display of dominance.

“You asked for this, Molly.” He said as he stalked back to the bed and positioned himself on top of her again. “All you had to do was be honest with me, now you're making me do this.”

Molly tried to escape, but Jim seized her by the wrists and bound them together with the nylon rope so tightly that it was like to draw blood. He wrapped the rope loosely around Molly's neck after securing her hands.

“Please, stop.” Molly pleaded through her tears, but that only earner her another backhanded slap like the one she had received at the pool. She sobbed as Jim twisted the rope, tightening it around her slender neck. With every turn she could feel her air flow being restricted that much more.

“What did you do, Molly?” Jim asked again, his eyes burning with hatred. “Just tell me and all this will be over.”

She writhed underneath him, squirming and bucking to try and break free, but it was no good. Jim had straddled her waist and was choking the life out of her, his weight was too heavy for her to throw him off. Her vision blurred as she tried to fight the urge to tell him what she'd done. She couldn't take it anymore, she only hoped that Sherlock could still help her.

“Sh...” she started, not able to speak because of the pressure on her neck.

“What's that, Molly dear?” Jim loosened the rope as he asked.

“Sherlock.” She finally choked out.

“What about him?”

“I t-texted him...from your mobile...”

“That's a good girl.” He said, unwrapping the rope from her neck and dismounting. He left her hands tied and sat on the side of the bed beside her. “That does pose a problem, though. He might be able to find us now. I could take you somewhere else, but that would spoil all the fun.”

His voice had gone back to normal and, in fact, sounded quite amused at the prospect of Sherlock paying them a visit. He tied the slack part of the rope to one of the bed posts tightly and leaned back so that he lay beside her.

“What do you mean?” Molly endeavored to ask, halfway expecting another blow, she would have another bruise from the most current one, she seemed to be collecting them now. He didn't hit her, though. Instead, he ran his hand gingerly down the side of her face.

“Molly,” he started, pulling her closer. Her wrists were dripping blood onto the plush blue duvet, throbbing with her pulse. “we're going to have some fun with Mister Sherlock Holmes. I hope he does find us. He'll be in for a real treat.”

Jim smiled a wicked smile, then pressed his lips against Molly's If she thought what had happened before was horrible, she would really dread what would happen to her next.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Sherlock had been pacing the halls at Scotland Yard since he set Lestrade and his officers on their task, and with every passing hour his mood darkened. He was getting tired of waiting for the incompetent police force that he relied on to do their jobs. John had tried to calm him, but the darker his mood grew, the more rude his words got. He hoped that John didn't take any of it personally, he had said some particularly offensive things to his friend, but John must know how difficult all of this was for him. Molly was depending on him, her life in his hands, and that tends to put a lot of stress on a person, even if that person is the infamous Sherlock Holmes. Regardless, John had not come back to Sherlock since the last time he snapped at him nearly two hours ago, and that wasn't really helping either. It had been about five hours since Lestrade and his crew had started searching for Molly when Lestrade finally came to Sherlock with news.

“We've found several different homes under the name of James Moriarty, but only one that matches the description that Molly sent in that text message.” Lestrade said as he handed Sherlock a piece of paper with an address scrawled on it. Sherlock felt his heart leap at the hope that he might be able to find Molly, which honestly still confused him. No one had ever affected him quite like Molly Hooper, and that was another reason that he had to find her, to find out why that was.

“Where's John?” Sherlock asked as he snatched the paper from Lestrade and started walking toward the exit, the officer following closely on his heels.

“Not sure, said he was leaving about an hour ago. I think you may have made him angry.”

Sherlock inwardly scolded himself, not letting any emotion show on his face. How could he expect to take down Moriarty without help, pushing away the people that care about you is probably not the best option at a time like this.

“Coming?” He asked Lestrade, hoping that the answer would be yes.

“Can't let you go into something like this alone. Donovan, with me!” Lestrade yelled back into the office as Donovan rushed out of her cubicle, jacket in hand, just as Sherlock and Lestrade went through the doors to the outside world.

“Did John happen to mention where he was going?” Sherlock asked as he followed Lestrade to his personal car and the three of them climbed inside.

“No.” Lestrade answered, turning the key in the ignition and backing out of the space he had parked in.

“Best check Baker Street, then.” Lestrade drove the distance from Scotland Yard to Baker Street in what seemed like mere seconds and parked on the curb. Sherlock opened the back door of the car and climbed out. “I'll only be a moment.”

He rushed into the building and ascended the steps two at a time, yelling John's name the whole time, but there was no answer. Upon entering their flat, it seemed like nothing was out of the ordinary. Nothing had been moved or tampered with, but John was nowhere to be found. Where could he have gone if not back here after leaving Scotland Yard. Sherlock looked around the flat for any signs as to where his friend might have gone when he found a small piece of paper sitting on the end table that sat beside John's chair.

 

_Gotcha._

_JM_

 

Only one word that would mean nothing to anyone else reading it, and a signature that could only indicate one person: Jim Moriarty. Fantastic. Now, not only did he need to save Molly, but he would have to ensure John's rescue as well. Of course he would have gotten himself caught. Moriarty knew that Sherlock had formed a bond with John, that was obvious from the pool, why neither of them saw this coming was a mystery to Sherlock- and mysteries are kind of his area of expertise. He rolled his eyes and stuffed the note into the pocket of his belstaff, then rushed back down the stairs and climbed into the waiting car.

“He's got John as well.” Sherlock said as he closed the door a little harder than he probably needed to.

“Bloody hell.” Lestrade said as he pulled away from the curb. Sherlock handed both of the pieces of paper that were in his possession to Donovan and she typed the address into a GPS that clung to the windshield of Lestrade's car, then examined the note that had been left in Sherlock's flat.

“How do you even know that's what this means?” Donovan asked, her usual perturbed tone dripping from her words.

“I don't expect you to understand, Miss Donovan.” Sherlock replied flippantly. He really wasn't in the mood to deal with Sally Donovan's sass at the moment, or at any time to be quite honest.

“I don't want to be lead on a wild goose chase. It doesn't seem like you have much of anything to base your hypothesis on, here, so why are we getting involved?” She asked, looking back and forth between a brooding Sherlock and Lestrade.

“Donovan, I thought you would know by now that Sherlock is never wrong, well nearly. Besides, why do you think he would lead us astray? The lives of his friends are at stake.” Lestrade answered when Sherlock had decided that he couldn't possibly entertain the foolishness spilling from Donovan's mouth for a second longer.

“Since when does the freak have friends?” Donovan asked. That word always sent a pang of hurt through Sherlock, although he never let it show, he couldn't let her know that something so trivial ever got to him.

“Since now.” Lestrade said, taking his eyes off of the road for a brief moment to shoot a glare in Donovan's direction. She shut up after that and left Sherlock to think about all the possible ways their mission could go wrong.

“In the message that Molly sent to me she said that Moriarty has guards watching the entire house, so this will more than likely be very difficult. If we want to be most effective, we'll have to split up and try to infiltrate the house from different angles. It may even work to our benefit to try and find these so called guards and take care of them before trying to gain entry. The front of the house will likely be the most heavily guarded, so we can't just drive right up to it. We'll need to stop at least a mile back, park the car, and make our way there on foot. If the guards that Molly spoke of are snipers that will hopefully give us enough distance as to allow us to approach from behind them. I imagine the two of you brought firearms?” Sherlock asked, Donovan and Lestrade nodded and he continued. “Excellent, we'll more than likely need those before this is over. I don't imagine that Moriarty will let Molly go without a fight, he seemed adamant at keeping her by his side and, when we met at the pool, mentioned that he would like to find a 'pet' like I had, referring to John. He would likely rather kill Molly than allow her to escape him again.”

“Not sure if I'm ready to put my life on the line for the likes of him.” Donovan chimed in, seemingly only talking to Lestrade.

“You're not doing it for him, you're doing it for the innocent civilians that this madman has taken hostage. You don't want their deaths on your conscience do you?” Lestrade asked, growing more and more irritated with every point that Donovan had to make against their mission.

“No, just not sure I like him calling the shots. I don't trust him, Greg.”

“Yeah, well I do, so if you'd like to continue working in my division, I'd suggest you start trusting him, and fast.” Lestrade pulled the car over on the side of the road and the three of them got out, Donovan clearly upset by his words. “Should just be down the road and to the left.”

“Are we all ready to work together here?” Sherlock asked impatiently before moving away from the car. He didn't want to go into such a dangerous situation with one of the members of their very small team having doubts as to the effectiveness of the plan. “This plan relies on all of us doing the job we need to do. If I don't have everyone cooperating it will fail, and the blood of the two people in that house will be on all of our hands.”

“I don't like you,” Donovan started, hands forming fists at her sides as she spoke, “but if this is the only way we can save the people in there then I guess I don't have a choice. My commanding officer has given me orders, and I can't refuse them. So I'll follow your plan, freak, but you just remember that I'm still suspicious of you. One day you'll be the one that we're after, and when that day comes, I'll be the one that catches you.”

“Someone has a knack for being melodramatic.” Sherlock said flippantly and started walking in the direction that he knew the house to be in. He faintly heard Donovan and Lestrade exchanging words, but he didn't care what they were saying. John and Molly were just a mile away and no matter what, he was bringing them home today.

 


	6. Chapter 6

When Jim finished with her he went to take his shower, leaving Molly alone to think about what had just happened. She knew it would happen again, it was just a question of how soon. Jim had made it very clear that he wanted her, and he always got what he wanted. He didn't return to the room after his shower and Molly was glad for it, she didn't know if she would be able to handle seeing him again so soon after he'd forced himself on her again. Her wrists bore angry red marks where the nylon rope had dug into her skin and streaks of blood ran down her arms, but she couldn't force herself to go to the bathroom to clean it off. She knew her neck and the left side of her face would have horrible bruises as well, she hoped that she wouldn't have to get used to that.

She was finally able to will herself to get off of the bed and wonder the room, it was rather spacious and had a few tasteful pieces of furniture and a large bookshelf stocked full of books by the window. She walked over to see what tomes adorned it's dark shelves. Tolkien, Robert Frost, Edgar Allen Poe, and many other notable authors made their homes on the large bookshelf and Molly was secretly glad for it. At least she would have something to read between her torture sessions. Try to see the best in everything, that's what her mother had always said, but Molly was finding it hard to see the best in her situation. She removed the book that had Robert Frost's name embossed in the leather spine and leafed through trying to find her favorite poem within the pages. It didn't take much time and she allowed herself a smile when she stopped on the page with the heading 'Fire and Ice'.

 

_Some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice._

_From what I've tasted of desire_

_I hold with those who favor fire._

_But if I had to perish twice,_

_I think I know enough of hate_

_To say that for destruction ice_

_Is also great_

_And would suffice_

 

Somehow, the words brought her some degree of comfort. Perhaps, when Sherlock finally saved her, he would let her torture Jim as payback. Then again, he might want to do that himself, but she hoped that he would let her choose. She would pick fire for him. He said he wanted to burn Sherlock, so it only seemed appropriate for that to be his punishment. She smiled at the thought of watching him burn before she pushed the dark thoughts from her mind and put the book back in its place on the shelf.

“Might as well check the damage.” She said to herself, walking over to the vanity and looking into the mirror. It was worse than she thought, the bruise on her face was a horrible black and there was a wide purple mark around her neck from the rope. She gingerly touched the marks on her body and recoiled quickly with even the most delicate touch. She hoped she wouldn't have to go into public anytime soon, because there's no way that any amount of makeup would cover up the horror that Jim had made of her face. She sighed and walked back to the large window that the bookshelf sat beside. There was a seat built into the sill that had a black cushion on top of it and she took a seat there, leaning against the wall and staring out into the thick woods that surrounded the house. She hoped against hope that she would see Sherlock walking out of those woods to save her, but after ten minutes of staring she decided to give up that endeavor. She was lost in thought until she heard a loud thump coming from the other side of the wall that the bed sat against.

Molly sat for a moment in her seat, debating on whether she should go to investigate or not and when she heard the noise again her curiosity got the best of her. She walked to the door of her room and opened it slowly, looking down the hall to the right and then turning to the left and walking to the door of the room that the noise had come from. She tested the knob and found that it was unlocked so she turned it and entered. She walked in and closed the door behind her before investigating the rest of the room. When she flipped on the light switch she was astonished to find John Watson bound and gagged and tied to a chair that sat against the wall. He was wearing a look of absolute shock as she ran over to assist him.

“John, what are you doing here?” Molly asked as she tore the gag away from his mouth. She wanted to untie him, but with Jim wondering the house freely she decided that might be a bad idea.

“I don't know how I got here.” John said quietly, as if he were afraid to be heard. “I was at Baker Street and then...I don't know...now I'm here.”

“Was Sherlock with you?” Molly asked hopefully but she knew the answer by the look on John's face. She cast her eyes downward and wrung her hands.

“Molly, what has he done to you?” John asked sadly as he scanned her features.

“Well, I'm sure you can imagine.” She answered, not able to make eye contact with John. “Did Sherlock receive my message?”

“Yes, Lestrade and half of Scotland Yard were working on tracing the mobile it came from when I left to go back to Baker Street. They were optimistic about how long it would take to triangulate the location, but it's hard to say if they've found it yet.”

“Has Jim hurt you while you've been here?”

“I haven't seen him, to be honest, I've only just woken up.”

“That's probably for the best.” Molly said, thinking of the commotion that happened just on the other side of the wall not that long ago. If John had heard her terrified screams and the sound of her pleading for mercy he would probably be much more upset.

“You're not in danger of being hurt again for coming in here, are you?” John asked with concern plain in his features.

“I don't think so.” Molly answered, but to be completely honest she had absolutely no idea. Jim probably wouldn't like her talking to John, but he had told her that she was free to wonder about the house as she pleased. “What do we do now?”

“I'm not sure there's anything we can do. I suppose the house is guarded, or at least has cameras watching the outside?”

“Jim told me that he has men watching every exit.”

“Of course.” John looked thoughtful for a moment before hanging his head. “Then I guess we wait for Sherlock.”

It was against Molly's better judgment, but she felt so bad for John that she had to untie him. She knew from experience that the ropes were probably painful, and didn't like to see John so helpless, so she freed him from his binds without waiting any longer. He was thankful for it, but seemed concerned for her safety for doing so. They talked a bit more before they heard a gunshot ring out from downstairs. Molly's eyes grew wide and she rushed to the door, John didn't hesitate to follow. The hallway seemed like it was never ending, like the faster she ran the longer it got. When she finally reached the spiral staircase, John close on her heels, she heard a man groaning at the bottom. _Please be Jim_. She thought to herself before she reached the foyer and saw who exactly it was. She froze in fear as she took in the scene before her. Jim standing over a man, his back toward Molly, one hand casually in the pocket of his trousers. He turned as he heard her ragged breath, revealing the gun that he held in his right hand.

“Ah, Molly dear, I see you've found our guest. Well, allow me to introduce you to our newest one.” Jim said, stepping to the left to reveal an injured Sherlock bleeding from his right shoulder onto the Persian carpet that decorated the white marble floor. Molly's hands flew to her mouth and she raced to his side without a thought as to the consequences.

“Sherlock!” She gasped as she fell to her knees beside him, pulling him gingerly into her lap and examining the wound. It looked like a clean shot, no damage to any internal organs, judging by where the bullet hole was. The bullet had gone straight through and gotten lodged in the wall before he fell to the floor. Jim had obviously shot his right shoulder on purpose, as that was his dominant side.

“Don't get too cozy, Molly. You belong to me, remember?” Jim said smugly, letting the gun hang by his side as if he wasn't expecting any more resistance. John still stood by the bottom of the staircase, obviously in shock at the scene before him.

“Why are you doing this?” Molly asked more quietly than she had intended. Sherlock's face showed the amount of pain he was in, and she tried her best not to jostle him any more than necessary.

“I told you, we're going to have fun.” Jim smiled.

“This is what you call fun?”

“Well, no, don't be obvious. This is only the start. I imagine that Sherlock brought more friends with him. Maybe by the end of the night I can complete my collection.”

“At least let me tend to his wound. Please. I'll...I'll do anything.” Molly stammered, knowing that she would probably regret that later.

“Molly...” Sherlock gasped and tried to move to face her.

“No, it's okay.” she said before he could finish. “I want to help you. Just let me help.”

“Fine, fine. Take Doctor Watson and Sherlock upstairs to the bathroom and get him all fixed up. But I want all of you back in the study when you're finished.” Jim agreed, waving the gun flippantly and turning to go back out of the house. “I'll be back with your friends in a moment. Oh, and Molly, I'll hold you to that little promise.”

When Jim had exited the room John ran over to Molly's aid, taking one of Sherlock's arms and hoisting it over his shoulders. Molly would have been under the other if the staircase would have been wide enough to accommodate the three of them walking abreast. They climbed the stairs slowly and Molly showed the two men to the large bathroom on the second floor. John helped Sherlock to sit on the counter where the sinks were and started rooting around in the drawers to find bandages and something to sanitize the wound with while Molly helped Sherlock to remove his coat, jacket and shirt. She was surprised when she felt Sherlock's hand on her face where her bruises were. She winced and he withdrew his touch.

“I'm sorry I couldn't get here sooner.” He said through gritted teeth, the pain obviously getting to him.

“Oh, that's just from the pool.” Molly tried to brush off her own problems, but she knew he would know that the bruises were too bad to have been from just one incident. Besides, didn't he know he was the one that was important right now?

“But this isn't.” he said, tracing the dark purple mark on her neck, then examining the deep wounds on her wrists. “He did it again, didn't he?”

“It's not important.” Molly turned her head to see if John had found what he was looking for, but Sherlock grabbed her chin and turned her back.

“It's important to me. He hurt you again, and I will make him pay.”

“Well, you've gone and got yourself shot, so you probably won't be doing any of that anytime soon.” She reached up and took Sherlock's hand in hers. “When I sent that message I never meant...I didn't want you to get hurt. If I would have known that this would happen...”

“I still would have found you, message or no. I will never give up on you, Molly Hooper.” Sherlock made full eye contact, his eyes a gray color that she had never seen before. He was clearly in more pain than he was letting on. John finally found the medical supplies and made his way back to where Sherlock sat. Molly moved to Sherlock's left side and let John have a look, probably better that a Doctor, rather than a pathologist, take care of a live patient. She made to move behind John, but Sherlock grabbed for her hand and she sat beside him on the counter instead. He intertwined their fingers as John bent down to have a look.

“The bullet went straight through, I saw it in the wall. He obviously wasn't trying to kill you or he would have done it in the time it took us to get down to the first floor, so he only wanted to injure you. You've lost a good deal of blood, you'll be weak for a while. Looks like the shoulder blade may have been shattered. How's your pain on a scale of one to ten?” John asked, never taking his eyes off of the wound.

“Twenty-five.” Sherlock answered, sucking in a breath as John prodded at the area around the wound softly. Sherlock squeezed Molly's hand as he felt the pain from John's touch and she rubbed her thumb over his in a comforting manner.

“There isn't any kind of painkiller in this kit strong enough to even make a dent in what you're feeling.”

“That's for the best.” Sherlock answered and John eyed him suspiciously.

“What does that mean?”

“I just...have a history. It's really nothing to worry about, John, we have bigger problems.” Sherlock answered. Molly decided that she would remember that topic for discussion if they ever got out of this place alive.

“I'm going to clean it now. This is alcohol, so it will sting.” John warned with a raised eyebrow. Sherlock nodded and Molly placed her free hand over his for reassurance. She could feel him bracing himself as John poured alcohol onto a square of gauze. The pain of the wound coupled with the sting of the alcohol was enough to make Sherlock groan and tighten his grip on Molly's hand. John cleaned the entrance and exit wounds thoroughly before dressing them with bandages. Molly helped him back into his shirt and jacket before John made a makeshift sling out of a sheet he'd found in the linen closet and draped it over Sherlock's head.

“That'll do it.” John said as he backed away.

“Thank you, John.” Sherlock said, pain still evident in his voice. Molly heard the door being opened and her eyes shot over as Jim entered the room. He frowned as he saw Molly holding Sherlock's hand. She released him, but didn't move away.

“All better now?” Jim asked with mock concern.

“Recovering.” Sherlock replied, trying to keep the pain out of his voice. Molly could feel the tension between the two men as Jim moved closer to where Sherlock sat. John stepped back as he advanced, moving to the other side of Molly.

“Not too quickly, I hope, I've still got plans for your little visit.” Jim smirked and looked at the three people leaning against the counter. “Can't have you regaining your strength too quickly. Oh, and don't worry, I still haven't found your pet Detective Inspector, but I know he's out there, somewhere. He's part of the game, as well. I've got my men searching the woods.”

Sherlock didn't say another word, he just sat staring at Jim as he recited what he had to say. Perhaps Moriarty didn't know that Donovan had also come with him. Molly could tell that the lack of reply on Sherlock's part was making Jim angry, it wasn't that hard to do, and she wondered what kind of backlash they would endure.

“Don't worry, Molly, I won't hurt your precious Sherlock anymore. With the amount of blood he's lost it would probably kill him, and I'm not ready for that yet. He still has a part to play.” Molly's face had yet again betrayed her inner thoughts.

“What's the point of this?” John asked, anger darkening his tone. “If this is a game, none of us are having fun.”

“Oh, that's not entirely true. I've been having fun, and I'm sure Sherlock has been having fun solving all the little puzzles I've been sending for him. Honestly, did you think that I _really_ 'accidentally' left my mobile where Molly could find it? Please. I wanted her to contact you, to bring you here, it was all part of my plan.”

“So, what's the plan?” Sherlock asked, his face clear of emotion.

“If I told you it wouldn't be fun anymore.”

“Jim, please, just let them go. I'm the only one you want, right? I'll stay here, with you, just don't hurt my friends anymore.” Molly pleaded, although Sherlock and John were both giving disapproving looks. Jim blinked and smiled.

“Well, of course I want you, but I also don't want to give up these two. No, they're very valuable collectibles indeed. The brains and the brawn, although, I'm not sure how brawny Doctor Watson is without his gun. You see, I brought you all here for a very specific reason.”

“As you keep telling us, but we've yet to discover what that reason is.” Sherlock said.

“You'll find out all in good time. I suggest the three of you make yourself comfortable in the house, because you won't be here much longer. Molly, be a dear and show Sherlock to one of the rooms, he can have whichever he likes. Doctor Watson, you know where you'll be staying. Get a good night's sleep, it might be your last.”

Jim walked out of the bathroom, Molly and the two men alone to ponder what he had just said. Molly didn't know what he meant by any of it, but one thing is for sure, it can't be good for anyone but him. Everyone was silent for a moment, Sherlock steepled his hands under his chin in the way he does when he's deep in thought and John just stared off into the distance. The weight of the situation the three of them were in just settling on them.

“What do we do?” Molly asked finally, breaking the silence in the room. Sherlock looked at her from the corner of his eyes, never moving his position, and John looked to Sherlock for the answer. He and Molly had just had a conversation similar to this, and neither of them had known what to do, if Sherlock didn't know they would be lost.

“I never saw a single guard.” He said suddenly, turning his head to look at his companions. “The whole time I was going through the woods I was specifically looking for guards, but I never saw one. It's entirely possible that they could be very well camouflaged, but I think it's more possible that there were never any guards to begin with.”

“You think he's trying to intimidate us.” John said, confident that he'd been set on the right train of thought.

“That, and I think he's playing mind games. If you have three people held hostage and you're only one person, it would go to your advantage to make them think that they're outnumbered. Molly, have you ever seen anyone else here?”

“The only other person I've seen is Sebastian, Jim's driver. I just assumed that the rest of his men were hidden too well for me to find them.” Molly gave all the information she had, which admittedly wasn't a lot, but anything would help. Sherlock could deduce the most extravagant of crimes from something as simple as a stain on a man's shirt, even the tiniest bit of information would help.

“If Moriarty is the only person here, assuming that his driver resides somewhere else, then we could easily slip out of the house while he isn't paying attention and make for the main road.”

“You're in no condition to be making daring escapes, Sherlock.” John chimed in as Sherlock pushed himself off of the counter to stand in front of Molly. “You're too weak from the blood loss. You wouldn't make it all the way out. Besides, we don't know for sure that it's a bluff. What if it isn't?”

“Then I'd imagine we'd be just about as well off as we are at this very moment. I'm sure that Moriarty plans to kill us anyway. If we die trying to escape, would it really be that much different from dying during whatever plot he's carrying out?”

“They won't kill us if they catch us while we're trying to flee. They'll tranquilize us and bring us back here, that's what Jim told me.” Molly said quietly, wringing her hands in her lap. “He also told me that if I was caught trying to escape he would punish me. I'd imagine that would mean torture, since that's what he did when he caught me with his mobile, among other things.”

“I'd imagine the house is bugged, so we shouldn't discuss anything more. He mentioned a room for me, would you mind to show me where that might be?” Sherlock asked, his features had grown dark as Molly talked of what Jim had done to her, but Molly decided to let that go for now and tucked herself under his arm, helping him out of the bathroom. As much as Sherlock didn't want to admit it, he was very weak from what had happened to him before, he protested as Molly helped him to walk down the long hallway, but she didn't pay him any mind. She stopped at the door to the left of the bedroom she called hers and opened it slowly.

“I'll just head back to my cell.” John said plaintively as he strode down the hall to enter the room that he'd found himself in when he'd woken up. Molly helped Sherlock into the room that she'd chosen for him and gently helped him to sit on the side of the bed. This room was decorated in yellow with white furniture and a plush white carpet. Not exactly Sherlock's taste, but she wanted him as close as possible.

“You'll need a new shirt.” Molly said, trying to make normal conversation even though their situation was anything but. She gently put her index finger through the hole that the bullet had made, being careful not to agitate his wound.

“I've got plenty at home.” Sherlock answered, then patted the soft duvet beside where he sat. Molly took the nonverbal cue and sat herself beside him.

“I might be able to get one out of Jim's closet, I doubt he would notice, he has so many. You're probably about the same size...” Molly started rambling before she felt Sherlock's hand on hers, he obviously wasn't in the mood to pretend that they weren't in danger. That was what Molly had been doing the whole time she was there, it was the only way she could keep herself from being reduced to a sobbing heap in the corner of her room.

“I don't need a new shirt, Molly. I want to know if you're okay.” Sherlock held her hand on his leg, she could feel him staring at her, but she couldn't bear to look. If she started to talk about what had happened during her time here she would surely break down into tears, and that's not what anyone needed right now. She wanted to be strong, to show Sherlock that she wasn't just the mousy pathologist from Bart's that was madly and irrevocably in love with him, but he was pushing too much to find out what she was really feeling and thinking. She couldn't stand to be strong for another second and let one, hard sob shake through her body before Sherlock looped his left arm around her and pulled her against himself. The tears were threatening to fall again, as if that hadn't happened enough during her time here, and she leaned into Sherlock to try and stop them.

“I'm not okay.” She said finally, never making eye contact although she could still feel his gaze. “I don't know how this happened. All I wanted...”

“Was to forget me.” Sherlock finished her statement for her, she kind of hated it when he did that. How could he read her so flawlessly?

“I was just trying to move on. I knew you didn't want me, at least not as anything more than a friend. I couldn't keep pining after you, hoping that one day you would come to your senses and we would live happily ever after. I just wanted to meet someone that could make me happy. I thought Jim might be that someone, but I was wrong. The things he's done to me, Sherlock...”

“You don't have to say. I'm sure you've been through more than you want to talk about. He's brought you within an inch of your life twice.” His hand moved up to trace the bruise on her neck and she reveled in how close they were. “I'd imagine that there will be more to come. It bothers me that I can't help you.”

“You're here, and that makes me feel a little better, but the fact that you've gotten hurt just for my sake is...It's not a good feeling. I didn't want you to get hurt. I don't even know what I was thinking, asking you to help. I put you in harm's way, it was my fault that this happened. Now you're stuck here with me, and John too. I don't want the two of you to...to...” Molly's voice caught in her throat. She couldn't bring herself to finish her sentence. Ever since she saw Sherlock laying on the floor in the foyer she'd been afraid for his life, afraid that her bringing him here would get him killed, and there was no way she could live with herself if that happened. Sherlock leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead.

“We will not die here, Molly. You and I, and John, we're all going to make it out of here alive. Moriarty might like to play with your mortality, but if he wanted you dead he would have killed you by now. He has feelings for you, however twisted they may be. He might like to cause you pain, but he will not kill you.”

“Is Lestrade really here?”

“Yes, and Donovan, as much as I begged Lestrade not to bring her.”

“Do you think they're still alive?”

“Moriarty would have been far too pleased with himself at their capture, he would have had to brag about it. They have to be alive, if only there were a way to reach them.”

“Jim took my mobile, and yours, I'm assuming?” Molly asked, pulling herself away from Sherlock just enough to look at him, she wanted to keep his arm in its place around her waist.

“Of course. If we were able to communicate that easily the game wouldn't work. He doesn't want us to be able to communicate while we're not together, and that goes for the three of us here, as well. We have to make sure that we don't get separated. Whatever happens now, Molly, we all have to stay together.”

“I wish it were that easy. He wants to keep us in separate rooms.”

“I suppose we're not meant to share.” Sherlock half smiled as he looked at Molly and she blushed at the attention.

“W-what do you mean?”

“We'd only just decided on sharing my room in 221B before all this happened. I suppose we aren't meant to share a room, the universe seems to be keeping us apart.”

“You don't believe in that nonsense.”

“You're right.”

“Er...” Molly looked away and quickly stood, “I'll...go get your coat from the bathroom, I think you left it there. Be back in a tick.”

Molly rushed out of the room with blush burning her cheeks and gathered Sherlock's belongings from the bathroom. His signature belstaff had an identical hole that matched the shirt he was wearing and she poked her finger through it as she thought about how it had gotten there. She draped it over her arm and made her way back to Sherlock's room only to be stopped in the hallway by Jim who had emerged from his study when he heard her soft footsteps.

“I told you all to meet me here when you were finished, have you forgotten?” Jim asked, his face hard and stern as he grabbed Molly by her elbow and pulled her closer to him.

“No, I was just bringing this to Sherlock before we came to meet you.” Molly answered, panicking a bit at his firm grasp on her arm. “I promise, we'll be right in.”

“You're getting a bit too friendly in there, Molly. Remember who you belong to.”

Molly swallowed hard and nodded her head before Jim gave her a half smile and released her. He turned back into his study and she hurried off to the room Sherlock was in, closing the door behind her and standing for a moment before turning to face him. Sherlock looked upset at something, probably having heard the exchange between herself and Jim outside the door.

“Jim wants us in his study. Let's go get John.” she said, helping Sherlock up. She was about to drape his arm over her shoulders but he refused, probably because of what he'd heard Jim say only moments ago. They walked out of the room at a slower pace than normal and down two doors to where John was staying. Molly knocked lightly then entered.

“Hello Molly.” John greeted her as she poked her head inside.

“Jim wants to see us in his study.” she said, repeating what she had just told Sherlock. John nodded and the three of them walked down the hall and into the large room. Bookcases lined every wall and there was a large desk sitting in front of one of the windows. The floors were hardwood and dark to match the deep forest green of the walls that were covered in mounted animal heads. Two black leather wing back chairs sat in front of a fireplace with a small table sitting in between them. Jim was sitting in one of the chairs.

“Ah, there you all are.” Jim said, standing to greet his guests as he pushed himself from his chair and turned to face them. He smiled at the fact that John stood in between Sherlock and Molly and took his opportunity to call her to his side. He only had to look at her and she knew what to do. She walked to his side and he put an arm around her shoulders. “It's probably time that I tell you what will happen in the morning.”

“Please, enlighten us.” Sherlock said in a flippant tone, but Molly could tell that Jim's arm around her shoulders bothered him.

“Tomorrow Sebastian will take the five of you to an undisclosed location and set you free.”

“Five?” John asked, confused.

“Yes, we've found DI Lestrade and Sally Donovan, they'll be joining you. Don't worry, they're safe for now. As I was saying, Sebastian will take you to an undisclosed location and set you free. Once you're free you'll have to do your best to survive the wilderness. Few people know this about me, but I'm quite the hunter.” Jim gestured to the trophies that adorned the walls of his study, smiling at the memory of every kill he'd made. “But hunting ordinary animals has gotten a bit boring. That's where you lot come in.”

“You can't mean...” John started, but he was soon cut off by Jim.

“Oh, I assure you, I do. You can all go free as long as you can find your way to civilization before I find you. It would have been too easy with everyone at the top of their game, so I injured Sherlock and took Doctor Watson's gun away. That makes the odds a bit more even.”

Molly wanted nothing more than to wrench herself away from Jim and slap him right across his smug face. She didn't understand how he thought he could get away with things like this. She wanted to tell him how wrong he was for doing this, how inhuman it was for him to hunt people, but she knew it would only earn her another backhand, or worse. If he thought injuring Sherlock would help him win his little game, injuring another member of the group would increase his odds even further. She kept her mouth tightly sealed, no matter what her mind was telling her.

“This is the only way out?” Sherlock asked after a long moment. Molly had been too lost in her thoughts to know what was happening around her.

“Yes.” Jim smirked, twirling a strand of Molly's hair around one of his fingers. “And I'm even willing to let Miss Molly go too. I've come to the realization that she'll never love me. I'd more than likely lose her anyway if I forced her to stay, she'd probably hurl herself from a window or cut her pretty wrists with a kitchen knife. At least this way I'll be able to have fun with her one last time.”

Sherlock looked as if he were about to dart across the room and throttle Jim where he stood, but he somehow managed to restrain himself, anger showing plainly in his eyes, which were locked on Molly's the entire time. Jim sighed and rolled his eyes as he pushed her forward with such force that she stumbled into Sherlock, causing them both to fall to the ground. Sherlock grunted with pain as she came down hard on his shoulder.

“I'm so sorry.” Molly said quietly as she rolled off of him quickly and offered her hand to help him back to his feet.

“It's fine Molly.” He muttered, taking her hand and then letting go as soon as he was stable again.

“Molly, I still expect you in my bed tonight, but you can visit with your friends for a while longer. I need to give you a goodbye present.” The smirk Jim gave her sent chills through her core. She knew exactly what that would mean. “Now run along, you have a big day tomorrow.” Jim said, waving his hand toward the door. He returned to his chair and stared at the crackling fire in the fireplace as Molly, Sherlock and John walked out of the room.

“John,” Sherlock said as soon as they were far enough away from the study so that Moriarty couldn't hear them. “come with us, we need to talk about tomorrow.”

“Right.” John answered, following closely behind Molly and Sherlock as they entered Sherlock's room. He closed the door behind them and locked it. Molly thought that might be a bad idea, that they might make him angry, but Sherlock didn't seem to care. John and Molly took a seat on the bed but Sherlock elected to stand, even though he needed all the rest he could get before the ordeal they would have to face in the morning.

“Tomorrow we'll all be in a great deal of danger, so we should be prepared for what Moriarty is going to throw at us.” Sherlock started, eying his companions as he began. “Not knowing where he's going to drop us is going to make it difficult to prepare too much, but as I said before, we all need to stay together. As long as he doesn't drop us all in different locations, that should be fairly easy.”

“What if he does?” Molly asked, her hands wringing in her lap as she spoke.

“Then we'll have to do our best to find each other.”

“I can't survive in the wilderness alone, Sherlock. I don't have the faintest clue on how to find which direction I'm walking or what berries are safe to eat or how to find water that I can drink. I'll die if I'm alone. He'll kill me, I'll be the first one, only to get to you.” Molly was panicking already and the ordeal hadn't even started. Sherlock walked over and sat down beside her, taking her hand into his and squeezing gently.

“I will find you if that happens. I will always find you, believe me when I tell you that. However, I don't think that we'll be split up. He wants to keep us together so that the two of you will have a hard time moving quickly enough with me tagging along.”

“Another reassurance for you, Molly, I know all about survival. I don't need a gun to get us out of this mess.” John chimed in, a slightly cheerful tone to his voice. It baffled her that the two men sitting on either side of her could care so much for her after she'd gotten them captured and nearly fatally injured, on Sherlock's part, but they were unwavering in their promise to keep her safe.

“Like Moriarty said, we'll need to find the nearest civilization, and as quickly after he drops us as possible. Hopefully I'll be able to deduce where we are by the look of the terrain, but if I can't, heading North will probably be our best option.” Sherlock continued as soon as he felt that Molly had been reassured enough to retain the rest of the plan.

“What if Lestrade and Donovan aren't dropped with us?” John asked.

“The way that Moriarty spoke about his plan sounded as if we would all be dropped together, but if we aren't, we won't be able to afford trying to look for them. We won't have any idea where we are, never mind where they would have been dropped. Looking for them will only waste precious time, we'll have to go without them.” Sherlock answered and Molly could have sworn that she heard the slightest bit of hurt in his voice. John only nodded solemnly, as if he'd decided that they could worry about finding the two officers after they'd gotten themselves to safety. “We really can't plan much more now, unfortunately, but as long as we're all together we can make it through.”

“Right, well, since we're going to be hunted tomorrow I should probably try and get a good night's sleep. I'll see you both in the morning.” John yawned and stretched as he finished his sentence, pushing himself off of the bed and walking toward the door.

“Good night, John.” Molly said as John left and he waved his goodbye, closing the door behind him. Molly and Sherlock sat silently in the empty room, Molly pondering what would happen tomorrow while Sherlock steepled his hands under his chin. Molly almost didn't want to interrupt him, but what she had to say now was more important than whatever he could be thinking.

“Sherlock,” She started, turning to face him and intertwining their fingers. “I just want you to know...in case we both don't make it through tomorrow...I would kick myself if I never told you...”

“I love you too, Molly.” Sherlock said before she could even get her statement out. She stared at him in shock for a moment, wondering if she'd heard him correctly, her mouth hung open slightly as she tried to puzzle out what had just happened.

“You do?” was all she could muster.

“Of course I do. I tried to tell you, the night that Moriarty took you to the pool, the night he took you away from me...But then of course there was the kissing...and John came home a bit prematurely.”

“I suppose that was my fault.” Molly blushed as she remembered that night, it had been so good before she'd been kidnapped, she could still feel Sherlock's lips pressed to hers if she thought about it hard enough.

“It wasn't unwelcome.” Sherlock replied, letting a slight smile curl his lips. Molly leaned her head on his shoulder and allowed herself a smile, stroking Sherlock's thumb with her own, enjoying their closeness. This may be the last time that they would ever be able to sit like this again, to feel each other's touch, and Molly couldn't let that chance pass her by. She knew she probably didn't look all that attractive now, after the damage she'd suffered at Jim's hand, but she desperately wanted intimacy before what could potentially be the last day of her life, and intimacy that she actually welcomed. If Jim was somehow watching what was happening in this room, he wouldn't like what he was about to see.

Molly removed her head from Sherlock's shoulder and met his eyes deliberately, turning her entire body so that she faced him. She allowed her hands to move up and tangle in his curls before pressing her lips to his in an urgent kiss. Sherlock seemed to get the hint and he let Molly guide the two of them down so that he leaned over her as she laid on the bed. Sherlock looked at her quizzically, as if looking for her approval before he proceeded any further and she only smiled up at him and pulled him back down to her. This could very well be her last night on earth, and she was going to enjoy every moment of it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I'm sure some of you will realize after finishing this chapter, I'm loosely basing some of this story on The Most Dangerous Game by Richard Connell. If you haven't read that, I highly suggest that you do. It was required reading material while I was in middle school and it's a thrilling read. Hope you all enjoyed the chapter! Please remember to leave me a comment or kudos to let me know how I'm doing.


	7. Chapter 7

Molly walked out of Sherlock's room, closing the door gently behind her and wearing the first, real, genuine smile that she'd allowed to grace her features since she was abducted. She hadn't realized how late it had gotten during her time spent with Sherlock, and she was a bit frightened to know what Jim would think she had been up to. Of course, his worst accusations might be accurate this time, but she would have to find some way to deny that. She turned to her left and took a few steps until she found herself in front of the door to the bedroom she shared with Jim. She hadn't heard anyone on the other side of the wall while she was with Sherlock, so that would hopefully mean that she was safe, for now. She opened the door and walked cautiously inside, not finding anyone in the room. With a sigh or relief she closed her door behind her and walked over to the large canopy bed to allow herself some rest.

She wasn't sure when she drifted off into a peaceful sleep, but she was being violently shaken awake by Jim now, who was standing over her, his eyes alight with anger. The sight snapped her back to consciousness immediately, and she was scrambling to the other side of the bed before she could even think. His iron grip closed around her arm and pulled her back to him, struggling the whole way.

“I told you, Molly, you should know who you belong to!” Jim yelled, pulling her from the bed to hit the ground with a loud thump. Surely John and Sherlock could hear everything that was going on. She hoped they wouldn't try to interfere. She didn't say anything, she knew that would just make him even angrier, and he stood over her as she tried to shield herself from whatever abuse he was ready to throw at her. She heard the sound of a belt buckle, then of the belt sliding out of the loops that held it in place, and she feared she was going to get more than a beating before she felt the leather sting her flesh. She let out a small whimper as the belt made contact again and again, with such force that Molly would have thought he was using a bull whip instead. Just more marks to add to the collection. She could feel blood being absorbed into the thin material of the white blouse she had fallen asleep in and, once again, tears began falling from her eyes.

“You will not disrespect me in my own house!” Jim yelled again, bringing the belt down hard on her shoulder. Molly winced every time it struck her, but she endured without a word. She heard the knob of the door twisting desperately in someone's hand, but she should have known that Jim would have locked everyone else out of the room. Sherlock would be too weak to knock the door down to come to her rescue, but there was still a chance of John trying to help. She didn't want that, though, she would rather be beaten to a bloody pulp herself than allow someone else to get hurt trying to rescue her. She only had to endure her beating for a few more moments before Jim dropped the belt to the floor and stomped over to the door to see who was behind it. Molly laid quivering on the floor, trying to recover, to shut out the throbbing pain of the lashes she'd taken on her back, when she heard the door swing open. She turned to see who was trying to help, but didn't catch a glimpse of them before Jim shoved them out of the way and stormed out. Molly heard a resulting thud as whoever he'd pushed fell to the ground, and struggled to push herself to her feet to go to their aid.

“Hello?” Her voice was a strangled groan as she half-crawled her way to the door to peer outside. When she got there she saw Sherlock struggling to his feet, not having nearly as much trouble as she was. When he saw her he rushed over and gathered her into his arms, regardless of his injured shoulder, helping her back to the canopied bed without a single word. Sherlock sighed and wrapped his arms around her for a brief moment before starting to work at the buttons on her blouse.

“W-what are you doing?” Molly scrambled to try and stop him, but his hands made quick work of the buttons and it was off before she could blink.

“I'm trying to see the damage.” He answered, his tone cold and angry. Molly turned her back to Sherlock and felt his long fingers delicately tracing the wounds that had been left on her skin. She wasn't sure how many there were herself, but judging by how long his fingers lingered on her back, she knew there had to be a lot. “These will get infected if we don't cover them properly before we leave. Let's go to the bathroom.”

“Sherlock, if he sees you with me...” Molly started as he helped her to shrug back into her blouse and do the buttons up before pushing himself to his feet.

“Let him see. He will rue the day he lays another hand on you.” Sherlock said, jerking Molly to her feet with a little more force than he meant to use. The anger in Jim's eyes a moment ago did nothing to rival the pure hatred burning in Sherlock's blue-green pools. Sherlock put his left arm around Molly's waist and practically dragged her down the hall and into the washroom where John had treated him hours ago. Molly looked out the window to see the faintest glow as the sun started to rise.

“Off.” He said, waving his hand toward Molly as he dug through the drawers in the bathroom to find the medical kit from before. He made a mess of the place as he searched but he found it quickly and got out the same tools John had used to treat him. Molly laid her blouse next to her on the sink and glanced in the mirror before turning so that Sherlock could treat her wounds. Her eyes went wide when she saw the damage and she drew in a sharp breath before Sherlock placed his hand on her shoulder and turned her forcefully to begin his treatment. Molly continued to stare into the mirror and watch him as he worked quickly. The sting of the alcohol was a cakewalk compared to how much the lashes still hurt her. She barely even winced as Sherlock gently dabbed the gauze over every inch of her back. Molly as lulling herself into a false sense of security as she heard the door to the bathroom come crashing open and Jim stormed inside. Sherlock looked up from his work, but not quickly enough. He braced himself as Jim crashed into him, pushing him away from Molly and seizing her arm to drag her away.

“Moriarty!” Molly heard Sherlock's voice from the bathroom and watched as he stumbled out, bracing himself against the door frame, a determined look plastered on his face as he pushed himself after the man dragging Molly away from him. Jim turned, jerking Molly behind him and pushing her to the floor as Sherlock stopped in front of him, panting for breath.

“Sherlock.” He regarded the breathless man, his tone flat, as if he hadn't just acted like a lunatic.

“Let Molly go. I won't let you hurt her again.”

“You crossed the line, Sherlock Holmes.” Jim started, glaring at Sherlock in a way that would make any man's blood run cold. John had been woken by the commotion and had peeked out of his room to observe the altercation, poised to run to Sherlock or Molly's aid, if he was needed. “You couldn't stand that I got to her first, could you? Couldn't bear the fact that I'd had her before you!”

“What are you talking about?”

“I claimed her. She was mine! But you just had to do it, didn't you? Had to try one last act of defiance before I let you go! Well, you can see what that cost your dear Miss Molly, can't you? She'll have those scars for the rest of her life! No more perfect, porcelain skin, not for her! I thought I made it perfectly clear that she would suffer for everything you do. You must not love her that much, to keep doing things that will make me angry. This is your fault, Sherlock! You're the reason she's like this!” Jim thrust his index finger toward Molly as he spoke, driving his point into Sherlock's brain.

“I know.” Sherlock answered, his eyes cast down for a moment. He brought them back up to stare into Moriarty's much darker ones, the colors of their eyes seemed to reflect which side they were really on. “And I will kill you for this, once we're free.”

“I'd like to see you try.” Moriarty growled, straightening his jacket as he composed himself again. The amount of time that it took Jim Moriarty's moods to change was hardly even noticeable. One moment he could be a raging lunatic and the next a sophisticated aristocrat. “I hope you're happy with what you've made me do. Molly, you won't be sleeping in my bed tonight, I suggest you find somewhere else.” Jim turned to face Molly and stooped in front of her so that he could drive his point home. “Just know this, Miss Molly, you're dead to me now. If you thought you were in danger when I enjoyed your company, you will deeply regret the day that you got on my bad side.”

Molly braced herself for another blow but she was surprised to see him get up and walk to his room, slamming the door with such force that a picture that hung outside on the wall crashed to the floor. Sherlock and John were hovering over her before she even knew it, helping her to her feet and looping respective arms around her. They took her into Sherlock's room and closed the door behind themselves, taking her to the bed before they released their grip on her. In the rush that Jim had caused, Molly hadn't even had time to grab her shirt out of the bathroom, and was relieved when John said that he would go and get it. She was past the point of being embarrassed to be half naked in front of either of these me, given the fact that John had already examined her after her first encounter with Jim and what Molly and Sherlock had done hours before. John was just a gentleman and offered before Molly even realized it might be uncomfortable for everyone else in the room if she continued to be shirtless.

The whole time John was gone, Sherlock's gaze never left the angry red marks that adorned Molly's back. He didn't touch, this time, he just stared, as if he thought he could have avoided this. Molly knew better than to think that, though. Whether she had been intimate with Sherlock or not, Jim more than likely would have done something horrible to her before he released her, and frankly she would rather have a beating than be raped again. John rushed back into the room and handed Molly her blouse, Sherlock helped her to put it on as gently as he could and she did up the buttons before John joined them to sit on the bed. Molly could see the pink sky turning to blue as the three of them sat, waiting for the others to speak. No one could find any words, not even Sherlock, who was particularly good at talking when no one else knew what to say.

“Thank you for standing up for me, Sherlock.” Molly's small voice finally broke the silence, her arms crossed in front of her chest as if she were trying to shield herself from the world.

“That's what I'm here for.” Sherlock replied curtly, and she knew it wasn't out of annoyance at her, but pure loathing toward Jim.

“This will make things a bit more difficult, won't it?” she gestured to her back and allowed herself to chance a look toward Sherlock, who was staring off at the wall.

“It seems so. You'll be in pain for a while, and we won't be able to care for your wounds properly. There's a high chance of infection from unclean living conditions while we're in the woods and we'll both be slow due to our injuries. Of course, that is what Moriarty wants. In a pack of animals, if there are injured or dying members, the pack moves on without them, seeing them as a liability. That's what Moriarty is trying to do here. He wants to force that decision, and if we're dropped with Lestrade and Donovan, there will be a strong possibility of it being brought up, at least toward me. I doubt Donovan would ever suggest leaving you behind, Molly, I'm a different story, however.”

“Well, I won't let them leave you. I know John won't leave you, and I have my doubts about Lestrade agreeing to something like that.” Molly answered, trying to soften her tone.

“If something happens that makes me unable to continue, I wholeheartedly hope that you'll leave me behind and save yourself.” Sherlock answered, taking Molly aback with his sudden cynical thoughts.

“Never.” Molly replied, looking resolved. Sherlock would have argued, but he simply didn't have the energy at the moment. It was somewhat clear to him that Moriarty had probably not let them sleep through the night on purpose, anything to give him the definitive advantage in his little game.

“It's about time then, yeah?” John asked, finally speaking after Sherlock and Molly's debate.

“More than likely. We should probably try and get some sort of food before we're forced out of this place. Who knows what kind of food we'll be able to find once we're out there.” Sherlock said, standing a bit shakily and holding out a hand to Molly. She took it and let him pull her to her feet and the three of them walked out the door and down the stairs to the kitchen. No one seemed to be there, so they decided to gorge themselves as much as possible. Molly found a few small packages of mixed nuts and decided to stuff them in the pockets of her trousers for later, just in case they couldn't find anything once they were set free. All three ate until they could not possibly stuff another morsel into their faces, and as quickly as they possibly could. They had retired to the sitting room before Moriarty came back to join them. He wore a spotless white suit with a black tie that had little white skulls all over it, his hair slicked back and his dark eyes glistening with some evil intentions.

“Sebastian will be waiting outside.” He said without feeling as he stood by the doorway to the sitting room. Molly, Sherlock, and John slowly rose from their seats and walked past him out the door to find a large black SUV waiting for them. “As you know, I won't be joining you. Have a nice trip, and don't worry, I'll see you all again.”

Sherlock glared at Moriarty as he and his companions walked to the car that waited for them. Sebastian opened the door and the three of them crawled inside and were off to their newest captivity, because that was exactly what this would be. Just because they weren't confined by a house didn't mean they weren't still prisoners. No doubt Moriarty would know every inch of the land he was dropping them on. They were at the disadvantage in several ways. Sherlock allowed himself to leave his thoughts as he noticed that Lestrade and Donovan weren't present in the spacious interior of the car. _Perhaps they won't be dropped with us after all_ , he thought, probably better that way anyway, the larger group they had the slower they would be. Sherlock inwardly chastised himself for thinking so selfishly before realizing that Donovan would likely agree with that thought.

The three of them didn't speak while they were in transit, and it was a rather long time before they reached their destination. The car pulled up on a tarmac at some unknown airport, the driver had intentionally taken back roads and obscure paths to get them here so that Sherlock wouldn't be able to deduce where they had ended up. From there they were forced from the car and into a small plane that sat waiting when they arrived. When they entered Sherlock saw Lestrade and Donovan already seated at the front and he and his companions went to meet them. Donovan had several cuts and bruises on her arms and face and Lestrade had a black eye and a large cut across the bridge of his nose, they'd obviously been abused as well. Luckily, Sherlock would be able to hide his injury from prying eyes, as long as Molly wasn't too adamant about making sure he was okay, but Molly's condition wouldn't be one that could be hidden. As soon as Donovan and Lestrade laid eyes on her their placid, and somewhat annoyed, expressions turned to shock.

“Bloody hell, Molly.” Lestrade started, standing immediately as she walked closer. “What the hell happened to you?”

“It's a bit of a long story.” She answered, seating herself in the row behind Donovan and Lestrade. Sherlock and John took the two seats that were next in the row. Lestrade took his seat again and fastened the belt around his waist, everyone else followed suit.

“Are the two of you all right?” John asked over the backs of the seats that Donovan and Lestrade were sitting in. Lestrade turned to look at the Doctor.

“I'm a bit banged up, but fine. Donovan is...” Lestrade shot a glance at the woman sitting beside him. She hadn't acknowledged the other people's arrival, nor was she speaking to them now. Sherlock knew that something horrible must have happened to her in the time between her capture and their reunion. “well, she's coping.”

“What did they do to her?” Sherlock asked, uncaring of why Lestrade was dancing around the issue. It earned him a chastising glare from Molly and John, but he needed to know the status of his pack, as he was now thinking of them.

“Besides beating her within an inch of her life? She hasn't spoken to me since we got on this damnable plane. I don't know what they did to her besides the obvious, from the injuries she has, but she seems pretty torn up about it.” Lestrade answered. Donovan never even moved a muscle. Her gaze was fixed on the front of the cabin, unwavering and uncaring to the company she had. Something traumatic had happened to her, that much was clear, but Sherlock couldn't pinpoint what it might be. They were only given a few more moments to speak with one another before a voice came over the PA system in the plane.

“Everyone, please fasten your seat belts and prepare for take off.” A man's voice, presumably the pilot's, rang out through the small plane and the captives all did as they were told, excluding Donovan. Lestrade did her belt for her and the plane jerked into motion a few moments later. Molly looked terrified at the sudden jolt that she experienced as the plane was set into motion and Sherlock took her hand, intertwining their fingers and trying to reassure her that everything would be fine. He deduced that this was her first time flying, so it was likely that she would be nervous, but it seemed she was a bit more scared than justifiable for one's first flight. Understandably so, she could be flying to her death and there was nothing that any one of them could do to stop it.

“I know you're scared, Molly.” Sherlock whispered, trying to keep his voice low enough so that the other passengers couldn't hear.

“I'm absolutely mortified, scared is an understatement.” Molly answered in a voice just as quiet. She squeezed his hand a bit subconsciously and turned to look at him.

“I promise I'll keep you safe.”

“I want you to promise that you'll keep yourself safe.”

“You come first.”

“No, Sherlock. I want you to promise me that you will keep yourself alive. The world needs you more than it needs me. I can't stop Moriarty, if I ever get back to my normal life, I don't have the skills to bring him down. You do. The world needs you to keep people like him off the streets. You need to live through this, so I want you to promise me. No matter how hard it gets, no matter how hopeless you think it might be, promise me that you will live.” Molly's voice had gotten a bit louder, unintentionally, and Sherlock knew that the other people in the plane had heard her words, but no one said anything.

“I can't promise you that I won't die, Molly. Everyone dies.”

“Well, it's not your time yet. You still have work to do. Promise me.”

“I promise that I'll do my best to keep myself, and everyone else, safe and alive.” Sherlock promised only halfheartedly. He hated doing things like that. Every instinct in his body was screaming at him that it was wrong, but for Molly he would do anything.

“Thank you.” Molly said with a half smile and leaned her head against his shoulder. Sherlock looked to John and his best friend nodded at him, as if confirming that he'd done the right thing in that situation. To be completely honest, Sherlock had expected John to tell him that what he had just done was “a bit not good”, as he'd put it in the past, but he didn't see any indication that he had guessed that correctly.

They had only been in the air for about thirty minutes before the plane landed, which sent another thrill through Molly's system. Sherlock thought for a moment that Molly might break his hand with the ferocity of her grip as the plane bounced on the runway as it landed, but she seemed to relax, if only a little, when the plane stopped. Everyone seemed a bit more tense now than during the flight, the feeling of it was palpable in the small cabin as Sebastian walked out of the cockpit and swung the door open.

“Everyone please follow me.” He said, and the five hostages rose from their seats and exited the plane without a word. Molly was still clinging to Sherlock, as much as he wished that she wasn't, at this moment. He knew that the eyes of every suit clad goon that Moriarty had sent to guard them were on the couple as they exited the plane. Sherlock hadn't intended on showing such weakness to their other captors, but that choice had been made for him, and he certainly wasn't going to remove Molly's grip from his hand when she was feeling so vulnerable.

The group was blindfolded before being ushered into another car and Sherlock could hear Molly's breathing quicken as she was separated from him. He knew that they were all still together, but perhaps Molly's senses weren't keen enough to pick up that information.

“I'm still here, Molly.” Sherlock said calmly after the door to their newest prison had been closed. He heard an audible sigh of relief come from her at his words, but nothing else. Clearly Moriarty wasn't taking any chances here. He must know that Sherlock has extensive knowledge of geography, and decided blindfolding them all would be a good idea, lest someone describe something to Sherlock that would make their escape too easy. They rode in complete silence for another thirty minutes before the car came to a halt and they were all escorted individually somewhere else. Sherlock couldn't tell where they were going, but he knew his whole pack was still with him, and he noted the change of terrain from flat asphalted ground to soft under his feet. The walk was long and arduous, but at last they all came to a stop after about fifteen or twenty minutes and their blindfolds were removed. The five captives stood in a circle all facing inward. As the people that had guided them here left one by one. The last to leave was Sebastian.

“The game is on.” He said before sauntering away, clearly mocking the words that Sherlock used so often to describe his cases. None of them attempted to follow Sebastian, as that probably would have lead to their deaths. They only stood, waiting until they could no longer hear the footsteps of the men that had brought them here and all that was left was the soft hum of nature. Sherlock looked around at the terrain, it looked quite dangerous to walk on, easy to turn an ankle. The ground was covered in soft green moss that felt springy under his feet, and they were surrounded by tall trees with white bark, along with some pines. Still in the United Kingdom, that much was obvious, the terrain suggested Scotland, but Sherlock couldn't quite be sure.

“What now?” John asked, looking around the circle of people he was now stranded with.

“We need to move.” Sherlock said quickly, walking across the circle and taking Molly by the hand, then starting off in some unknown direction. “Surely Moriarty knows where we were dropped off, he'll probably start here when he begins his hunt. We need to be careful to leave as few physical signs of where we've been as possible. Don't step in the mud, don't break any branches, follow all of my moves exactly.” He only stopped when Molly did, tugging him back to look at the others. John and Lestrade had started to move toward where Sherlock had set off, but Donovan still stood in her original spot.

“Sally,” Lestrade's voice was gentle as he moved toward her. Her arms were wrapped around her body in a protective fashion. “we need to get moving. We'll get caught it we stay here.”

“Go on, then. Go fight for your lives out there in the wilderness somewhere. I'd rather just be left alone if I'm going to die, thank you.” Donovan's voice wasn't what Sherlock was used to hearing. It was usually so packed with confidence and snark, but now it was just a quiet whisper. She had lost all faith that they would make it back alive.

“You can't just give up, Sally.” John's tone was reassuring, but Sherlock could sense a bit of anxiety behind it, as well.

“Yeah, well, I have haven't I? I don't want to spend the rest of my life running, so if that's what you lot want, go right ahead, but I'd rather see it coming than get shot in the back when I'm least expecting it.”

“Let's go then.” Sherlock said uncaring, tugging on Molly's arm and finding her unflinching. He shot an exasperated look around at everyone else, they were all staring at him with quizzical looks on their faces. “What?”

“We can't just leave her here, Sherlock.” Molly said, a tone in her voice he'd never heard before. Disappointment?

“She said she doesn't want to go on. She's holding us up, who knows how close behind us Moriarty is. The longer we stand here debating this nonsense, the less of a chance we all have for survival.”

“I'm not going to leave her here alone.” Lestrade said in a somewhat angry tone, and did Sherlock sense some kind of sentiment in there?

“Well then stay with her, if you like, but we can't all sit here and wait for the hunter to arrive! We need to go!” Sherlock was losing his patience, something that he never had very much of to begin with.

“Sally, we have a much better chance if we all stick together.” Lestrade said, ignoring Sherlock's cold suggestions and turning his full attention to Donovan. “I'm not leaving you here alone.”

“I'm not playing his game, Greg!” Sally shot back, anger in her features. “If you want to run around playing hide-and-seek with a psychopath, then be my guest! I'm not having it! I won't be reduced to a wild animal running around in the woods! I'd rather die with a bit of my dignity in tact, thank you.”

Sherlock let go of Molly's hand and stomped over to Donovan, his hands fisted at his sides, and got right in her face before speaking. “If you keep this up, you'll be responsible for the deaths of every single one of us. You're keeping us from leaving, since apparently everyone else here is too morally bound to leave you behind. I have no problem with leaving you here, there's no love lost between the two of us, and I'd rather sacrifice your meaningless existence if it meant that Molly's safety was ensured. You've obviously given up hope that you can ever get back to civilization, you did that before you were even told the rest of Moriarty's plan, and frankly I think that makes you weak. Weakness is a trait that packs of animals shun, and that's what we are right now. A pack of wild animals, trying to survive. You're keeping us from surviving. So, either suck it up and come with us or stay here and die, I really couldn't care less. But if you could please convince the rest of these idiots to leave with me instead of sacrificing all of our lives for you, that would be just wonderful!”

“You're right.” Sally started as Sherlock calmed himself from his sudden outburst. “I can't let all of you die just because I'm too stubborn to play along. I want you all to go.”

“Sally-” Lestrade started but was cut off immediately.

“No, Greg, I want you all to go. You don't have to die because I'm tired of running. Go and live, I know you can all make it out, but I'm done.”

“There is everyone happy now?” Sherlock said with a bit of relief.

“Sherlock...” John started, shaking his head and giving him that 'not good' look. Sherlock stifled his celebrations and walked back to Molly to wait until everyone was ready to move on. Lestrade seemed to steel himself at that moment, as if facing a sad truth that he knew would come eventually.

“I'll make sure everyone at the office knows what an exceptional officer you were.” Lestrade said sadly, placing a hand gently on Donovan's shoulder.

“Be careful, you lot, and get home.” Donovan said. Everyone said a short goodbye and left Donovan standing in the place they'd been dropped off. They had lost at least fifteen minutes having a moral debate, so they would have to move very quickly to distance themselves from their hunter. The groups morale seemed to be especially low after their conversation with Donovan, which was all they needed at the moment. Sherlock knew that this would be difficult, but he apparently didn't know just _how_ difficult. Regardless of what his companions were feeling, they easily kept up with the pace that Sherlock set, being careful not to let their feet land the wrong way on the uneven terrain. They would be in for a long adventure, he had the feeling, and he hoped everyone could last the whole time.

 


	8. Chapter 8

They'd been walking for the majority of the day when Molly just couldn't take it anymore. Sherlock had a firm grip on her hand the entire time, and the pace was starting to wear her down. She hadn't slept for half of the night before and had endured a brutal beating only an hour before they set out. She knew they had to keep moving, but it just wasn't possible anymore.

“Sherlock, can we stop?” Molly asked coyly, tugging on his hand to get his attention. He stopped in his tracks and turned around several times, taking in the area they were stopped in and deeming it appropriate for a rest. He nodded and Molly sat herself on a rock that was covered in moss, resting her aching feet and calves. Sherlock didn't sit, he just paced around the area, thinking about their next move and John and Lestrade stood idly by Molly's side.

“Do you know where we are?” John asked toward Sherlock who didn't even stop pacing before he answered.

“Perhaps somewhere in Scotland, the terrain seems to match. Not too much to worry about other than walking off of a cliff, we should watch out for snakes though. No one has died from the bite of an adder in twenty years, but we don't know how far from civilization we are. If one of us was bitten and we couldn't find a medical facility quickly enough, we would die. Which direction have we been walking?”

“Judging by the sun I'd say we've been moving West. If we knew which part of Scotland we were in it would make this a lot easier.”

“That's rather the point.” Sherlock said, glancing at John as he continued his pacing, raking his hands through his dark, unruly curls as he thought.

“What will we do for food?” Lestrade asked, stepping forward, “I'm bloody starving.” Molly pulled one of the packages of mixed nuts that she had taken from Jim's kitchen out of her pocket and tossed it to Lestrade, getting a thankful smile in return.

“It's not much, but it's all we have right now. I suppose we'll have to do some hunting of our own.” Molly said as she massaged the ache out of her calves.

“We can make a snare with a belt, to catch little animals.” John added.

“We'll also have to find a place to stay for the night. Somewhere out of the way of any weather we might encounter. A cave or something similar.” Sherlock broke back into the conversation, stopping his pacing to survey the area around them one more time. “There isn't anything here, we'll have to keep going.”

Molly got up at that cue and continued to follow behind Sherlock, not holding on to his hand this time in fear of being pulled along too quickly. The terrain was hard for her to handle at a quick pace, and even harder when she was practically being pulled through the forest. She started looking around at where they were, and at any other time she would have remarked on how beautiful it was. The rich green color of everything around them contrasted with the white tree trunks that shot up from the ground. Molly had always wanted to visit Scotland, but this wasn't how she envisioned that happening. She was casting her head down again to watch her footsteps when she felt a sharp pain in her left leg, something closed hard on her leg and she heard a sickening crunch as she fell to the ground with a squeal of pain. John was by her side faster than Sherlock, who was probably too far ahead to get to her that quickly. John was blocking her view of the damage as he examined what was happening, but she knew it couldn't be good. Pain radiated through her body, pulsing with every beat of her heart as her vision began to blur.

“Don't look at it Molly.” She heard John say, but she couldn't help her curiosity. She leaned around John to see what had caught her and became instantly terrified. A huge steel bear trap was clamped around her leg. Her head was swimming as she looked at the bloody scene, steel teeth dug into pale white flesh and she could see a bone sticking out of her skin before her vision went and she fell back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

As soon as Sherlock heard the sound of the steel trap being triggered, he turned to see who had stepped on it. He was mortified when he saw Molly fall to the ground and John rush over to block her view. He tried his best to keep her from seeing the horrific injury she'd just endured, but it was no good. Molly leaned around and took one look, then passed out cold on the rocky ground. Luckily, Lestrade was close enough to Molly that he could catch her before she hit her head on something. Hadn't she been through enough already without having something like this happen to her? It was clear that her ankle was broken, the bone stuck out of the skin and blood ran down and onto the ground. If Moriarty was as good a hunter as he said he was, he would be able to find that blood and know that this was the way they were headed. If Sherlock was lucky, he could reset the trap and hope that Moriarty would step on it himself.

“We need to find something to splint this with, and best set it before she regains consciousness. Sherlock, help me get the trap off.” John demanded, snapping Sherlock from his thoughts. Sherlock did as he was told and walked over to where John was stooped. “When I open the trap, move her foot out of it. It'll be hard for me to keep it open long, so we have to do this quickly. Ready?”

“Yes.” Sherlock answered and John counted to three and used all of his strength to pry the trap open just enough for Sherlock to remove Molly's foot and place it gently on the ground. Sherlock made a mental note to reset it before they left.

“Go find a sturdy tree branch or something, and I'll need a belt or some cloth to hold the splint in place. Lestrade, I need you to hold her still. When I set this break she might wake up and thrash about for a minute. Just keep her steady.” John commanded the other two men as if it were nothing, and they obeyed without question. Lestrade braced Molly, holding firmly to her arms as John snapped her bones back into place. She let out another shriek of pain and then fell unconscious again, more than likely from the pain of the encounter rather than the fact that she'd seen something gory. Being a pathologist tends to steel someone to things like that.

Sherlock went to look for two sturdy branches to make a good splint, he couldn't bear to see Molly in that much pain. This would make their traveling even harder, Molly would no longer be able to walk on her own. She'd either have to be carried or mostly supported, and that would make the going a lot slower. Sherlock contemplated how he could help the situation as he scoured the ground of the forest. If it were any other person on this planet, save John, Sherlock would suggest leaving them behind, but he couldn't do that to Molly, it just wasn't an option. There would be no choice but to help her along, and that would mean that they would have to be a lot sneakier since they couldn't be fast. They still had a ways to go before the sun would be going down, and Sherlock wanted to cover as much ground as possible before stopping for the night, although he hadn't anticipated something like this, that was his first mistake of the endeavor. He didn't even think about traps like that before now, before it was too late to warn his friends. And, of course, it would have been Molly that would have found out about them first hand.

Once he had found two suitable branches, he wondered back to John and handed them over, then slipped the black belt that he wore around his waist off and handed it down as well. John worked quickly to splint Molly's leg and then sat back for a moment to admire his work. Sherlock had never been so happy that his best friend just happened to be a doctor as well.

“There's nothing I can do for the actual wound. I don't have anything to clean it with. Our best chance would be to use bits of someone's shirt to cover the wound, at least then we could keep the remainder of the dirt out. It's a nasty break, she won't be able to put weight on it for a long time. She'll also be out for a while, she's obviously in a lot of pain, and probably shock. We'll have to carry her, if we're planning to go further.” John explained, although Sherlock had a fairly good understanding of anatomy and medical procedures. Sherlock nodded and removed the jacket he was wearing, then tore off the right sleeve of his shirt and handed it down to John as well. John quickly wrapped it tightly around Molly's wound and tied it off securely.

“There isn't any shelter here.” Sherlock said, scanning the surrounding terrain for anything that could pass as a decent shelter for the night. “We need to go at least until we find somewhere relatively safe to stay and hide until daybreak.”

“About two hours until it gets dark now,” Lestrade said, staring toward the sun that had been steadily descending toward the horizon, it was almost completely out of sight through the dense trees. “we'll need to find somewhere fast.”

Sherlock nodded and bent to pick up Molly's unconscious form when John grabbed him by the wrist and stopped his work.

“You can't carry her, Sherlock, your arm is pretty badly damaged as well. Your shoulder was shattered when Moriarty shot you. Let Lestrade and I take turns, I promise we'll take care of her.” he said, gazing up at Sherlock until he finally gave a curt nod of approval. John opted to carry Molly first and easily hoisted her up into his arms. John was a strong man for his petite size, but Molly couldn't be that heavy, either. They started off again, at a slightly slower pace than before to accommodate for any struggles John might have while he bore Molly's weight.

“Mind your step.” Sherlock said solemnly as they trudged on through the dense forest.

 

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When Molly regained consciousness she was covered with Sherlock's suit jacket and laying on the floor of a darkened cave, she could hardly see the silhouettes of her companions as the light from outside was slowly fading. She sat up slowly, her memory fuzzy on what exactly had happened. Sherlock noticed her movement and went immediately to her side. When he got there, she noticed that the sleeve of his shirt had been torn off.

“What happened?” She asked, letting herself admire just how toned Sherlock was under his clothes.

“You stepped in a bear trap.” Sherlock said quietly, sitting down very close to Molly, likely so that they could see each other as they spoke. “We did our best to fix you up, but you won't be able to walk for a while. The trap broke your ankle.”

Molly hadn't seemed to notice the pain that was beginning to radiate up from her ankle until the words passed Sherlock's lips, probably some sort of delayed reaction on her body's part. She looked down to try to see the damage, but it was too dark to decipher anything at the moment and she decided that she would take Sherlock's word for it.

“I really meant what happened to your shirt, but thanks for filling me in.” She joked, trying to make light of their current situation. She couldn't really see, but she could swear that a smile began to spread itself across Sherlock's face before he began speaking again.

“I sacrificed it to John so that he could make a bandage for you.” He answered, his hand brushing against hers, finding it and holding tightly to it once he did.

“Where do you think we are?” she asked, releasing Sherlock's hand only so that she could put his jacket on over her thin white blouse to fight against the chill, then intertwining her fingers with his once again.

“Somewhere in Scotland, I can't say where exactly. We'd have a better chance if we could find the ocean, I'd be able to get us to civilization in no time, if that were the case. It seems that Moriarty thought of that, though, I suspect we've been dropped just about as far from the ocean as possible.”

“So somewhere in the middle, then?”

“Possibly, we'll have to keep going to see.”

“How's your shoulder?”

“Inconvenient. John and Lestrade had to take turns carrying you until we got here because I'm not capable. The going would have been much faster if the three of us could have alternated instead of just the two of them. If it weren't for my mind I would feel completely useless.” The bluntness of Sherlock's last statement made Molly feel horrible. If she would have just been watching where she was going, no one would be at the disadvantage, at least not any more than the group of them collectively already were. She leaned against Sherlock's shoulder and sighed deeply, giving up at trying to convince him of what an absolute saint he'd been even bothering to come and rescue her.

“Please promise me that you won't ever blame yourself for anything that happens to me again. None of it is your fault and, frankly, I'm tired of hearing about it, Sherlock.” She said finally. She felt Sherlock shift beside her and could tell he must be looking at her now.

“That was...unexpected.” He half stammered at the boldness that Molly had exhibited, usually stammering was her area.

“Yeah, well, we have enough problems without having you so down on yourself all the time. What happened to your classic ego, Mister Everyone-Is-Inferior?” Sherlock chuckled a bit and that brought a smile to Molly's face. She wasn't sure if she had ever actually heard him laugh before.

“All right, love birds, it's time for us to get some rest if we're going to head out when the sun rises.” John's voice called from across the now pitch-black cave. “Keep it down over there, will you?”

“And I don't wanna hear any suspicious noises.” Lestrade added, and Molly could hear the scowl that he was wearing, even without being able to see it. That brought another chuckle from Sherlock and she couldn't help but giggle as well.

“Get some rest, Molly. I'm staying up to keep watch, just in case.” Sherlock said softly. Molly settled down, laying her head in Sherlock's lap. She felt oddly at ease, even though she knew she should be anything but. Sherlock draped an arm over Molly and the cave grew so quiet that she could hear his breathing, and for the first time since this whole horrible thing started, she slept peacefully.

 

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“Molly,” Sherlock said, staring down at his lap where a peacefully sleeping Molly lay. He brushed a strand of hair off of her face as she stirred and her eyes fluttered open. “We need to get going.”

“How long did I sleep?” Molly asked, pushing herself up to a sitting position to notice that light had started to flood into the cave from the rising sun.

“Through the night, I wish you could sleep longer, but we really need to get going.” Sherlock stood and held out a hand to help Molly up. She couldn't put any weight at all on her ankle, but he was there to support her. Lestrade and John were milling about the cave, John keeping a watchful eye outside to make sure no one was sneaking up on them. Sherlock helped Molly to the mouth of the cave, both of them struggling with their injuries, and John conjured up a smile as he saw them.

“Good morning, Molly.” He said

“Good morning, John. Sleep well?” Molly replied, she probably could have guess the answer.

“As well as you can on the floor of a cave. I tried to relieve Sherlock of his watch last night, but he wasn't having it.”

“I don't need to sleep.” Sherlock shot back quickly, not even glancing at his friend.

“You can't stay awake the whole time we're out here, Sherlock.” John protested. Sherlock had expected that particular protest to come from Molly.

“I don't plan on being out here much longer.”

“Do you know where we are?” Lestrade chimed in, sauntering over to the group and stretching his arms over his head, then rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Not exactly. I have the feeling, though, if we continue the way we're going we'll find a town at least by tomorrow. Something about this place seems familiar.” Sherlock looked around the outside of the cave for a long moment before he snapped back to the three of his friends that were staring at him with questioning looks.

“Time to get going then, yeah?” John asked. Sherlock nodded and started to step out of the cave before realizing that he was still supporting Molly. “Molly, hop on my back, I'll carry you for a while.”

“I feel like such a burden.” Molly said, blushing as Sherlock helped her to get herself on John's back piggy-back style.

“Don't worry, Molly, I carried a pack about the same weight that you are all through Afghanistan. This isn't any trouble at all.” John reassured her, turning his head and smiling as he, along with Sherlock and Lestrade, started out into the wilderness again. Molly was a little relieved that she didn't have to walk the whole way, who knew how long they would be walking, but she kept remembering what Sherlock had said about animals in the wild. If a member of a heard or pack is injured, the other members usually just leave them. The weakest link to be preyed on by whatever predator might be following them. She wondered if Sherlock, John, and Lestrade would be better off without her. Probably. She only slowed them down.

“Stop it.” Sherlock suddenly said, eyes fixed on Molly with a chastising look on his face.

“S-stop what?” She stammered, she hadn't stammered in front of Sherlock for a while now. Of course that would be a tell-tale sign that she knew exactly what he was talking about.

“Stop thinking that you're causing us all trouble. This whole mission was to rescue you, what kind of mission would it be if we left you out here to die? You told me that I'm not allowed to blame myself for what's happened to you, so you're not allowed to think yourself a burden.”

“Fair enough.” Molly replied, lowering her head toward the back of John's neck to try and hide the flush of embarrassment on her cheeks from Sherlock and Lestrade. She felt oddly comfortable with John, even though she hadn't really gotten to know him that much at all in the time he and Sherlock had been friends. He seemed like a nice, honest man, and he was obviously willing to do anything for his friends. Molly rested her head against his shoulder as he walked, she was still tired despite the fact that she had gotten ample sleep last night. Fatigue seemed to be commonplace now, and had been since her abduction. She decided to push those thoughts from her mind as they went on, thinking of how she could be of use to the group. If they caught an animal, at least she would be able to cook it. Her father had taught her all about hunting, skinning, and cooking animals, while he had been alive, and she was confident that she could still recall all the little things he had taught her.

They walked for a bit longer before they found a stream. Molly lit up at the sound of the clear water trickling over the rocks, it was almost calming.

“Can we drink it?” She asked, leaning over John's shoulder to have a closer look at the stream.

“It's hard to say without running proper tests. It looks clear enough.” Sherlock answered, although Molly could tell that he wasn't entirely confident in his statement.

“It has to be worth the risk. Can anything we can get from contaminated water be worse than dying from dehydration?” Lestrade asked. Sherlock just gave him a look that seemed to ask 'are you stupid?' and rolled his eyes in Lestrade's direction.

“We may not be able to find anymore water.” Molly added.

“We would be better off chewing on leaves to get water. You never know what horrible things could be running through a stream. Well, you could know, if you had a microscope.” Sherlock said, irritation permeating his voice. He was clearly suffering from lack of sleep, judging by how irritable he had become, and it was hard to tell how long he'd already gone without it. Molly knew that he rarely slept while working a case, and he'd been dealing with Moriarty for quite a while before he was captured and put in this situation. She was just getting ready to ask if he wanted to rest for a while when she heard a strange sound, like metal sliding against metal. She and Sherlock locked eyes and she knew that he had heard it too. They started looking around before Sherlock yelled “Vatican cameos!” and John sped off as quickly as he could while still carrying Molly on his back. She heard a gunshot and tried her best to look behind them, to make sure no one had been injured in the chaos, but she couldn't see anything.

“John, where's Sherlock?!” She asked frantically while John kept up a steady speed running carefully away from the stream. He didn't answer, having too much difficulty running and carrying her at the same time to talk as well. She heard another shot, further away this time, as John had put quite a bit of distance between them and the action. She heard John gasp and they were crashing to the ground before Molly even knew what was happening. She hit the uneven terrain hard and hissed with pain as her ankle made contact. She quickly looked over to John, he didn't seem to have been shot.

“Are you okay, Molly?” He asked quickly, scrambling to his feet and holding out a hand to her.

“I'm fine.” Molly answered, pushing the pain of her ankle out of her mind. “And you?”

“Fine, I just lost my footing.” John pulled her to her feet and hooked an arm around her waist, then hurriedly helped her to a bank that they could hide behind, just in case they were being pursued.

“Where's Sherlock?” Molly asked again, she couldn't keep the worry out of her voice. She had no idea if Sherlock and Lestrade had escaped that encounter.

“He and Lestrade must have run a different way.” John said, struggling to catch his breath after the energy he had just exerted. “I'm sure they're fine, Molly.”

“We have to find them! What if they're in danger?”

“We can't go back that way, it's generally not a great idea to run toward gunfire.” John had a troubled expression on his face and Molly could tell that he wanted to go back just as badly as she did, but his training as a soldier was telling him otherwise. He had been in these kinds of positions before, and she could tell that it wasn't something that he enjoyed.

“What do we do, John?” Molly asked, succumbing to the tears that were forming in her eyes. John looped his arm around her shoulders to comfort her.

“We keep moving.”

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, I've been busy with my classes and spring break for a while, but I plan on making my updates much more frequent now. I hope you all enjoy this chapter.

The sound of a gun being cocked, Sherlock knew it without even thinking. Time seemed to slow as he turned in place, scanning the area around his group for any signs of where the sound had come from. He found the culprit in a tree, grinning down at him with a high caliber rifle aimed directly toward them.

“Vatican cameos!” The words almost didn't escape his lips before Moriarty pulled the trigger. John dashed off with Molly and Lestrade was gone before Sherlock could even blink, leaving him to go his own way, trying desperately to just survive the encounter. A bullet whizzed past his head and he flinched, ducking down as he sprinted in God knows which direction. All he could think of was Molly's safety, how he wished he would have thought to follow John, but that only would have made him a target as well. Moriarty was clearly aiming for Sherlock, and if that was the case, he needed to get as far away from the others as possible. He only hoped that they would be able to make it to civilization without him. John knew his cardinal directions, that should be enough to get them somewhere. Sherlock heard another shot and the impact on the ground behind him. Moriarty must be kicking himself, he'd missed his target twice, although very narrowly. John could outgun him in a second, if only he would have had a weapon.

Sherlock only ran for a few more moments before he found a wide tree that would conceal him from the direction the shots had come from. He was confident that he had gotten far enough away to be able to catch his breath for a moment. Moriarty would have to climb down from his tree before he could come after him. He looked around, trying to get his bearings, but there was absolutely nothing that would tell him which way to go.

“Which direction does the sun rise?” He asked himself, cursing internally for having deleted that tidbit of information from his mind. _It's primary school stuff, Sherlock_. He heard John's voice chastising him, now knowing just how important things like this were. In future, he would remember _not_ to delete things about the solar system. Surely he had to have it somewhere in his mind palace, but now wasn't exactly the best time to get lost in his own mind, that would surely mean death. He briefly contemplated going back to see if John and Molly had returned to the spot near the stream where the incident occurred, but John would have never done that. His military training would have told him to keep going. No matter how much it pained him, or Molly, they would have to leave him behind.

Sherlock pushed away from the tree, listening keenly to the sounds around him, and decided that it was safe enough to start moving again. If the direction they had been moving before was West, then he had gone East when he started running, which would put him on a path back toward where he was dropped. He decided to turn a different way, not knowing exactly what direction it was, but he committed and started off at a brisk pace, determined to find civilization so that he could be reunited with his friends.

He heard a twig break to his left, as if someone was walking, or following, behind him, but he decided he wouldn't run, he wouldn't turn his head or let whoever was following him know that he'd heard them, the element of surprise would be paramount. He heard hurried footsteps coming quickly up behind him and did the only thing there was left to do. As soon as the steps were close enough, Sherlock turned and punched the person that was running up on him, throwing all his weight behind his fist as he made contact. It was only after the deed was done that he realized the person was Lestrade, who was now on the ground from the sheer impact of the blow.

“Bloody hell! What was that for, you sod?” Lestrade yelled, his hand trying to stem the flow of blood coming from his nose as he pushed himself back to his feet.

“Gavin?” Sherlock questioned. That wasn't who he had been expecting. Lestrade must have run in the same general direction when fleeing the chaos at the stream.

“It's Greg!” He corrected, leaning his head back and pinching his nose, his eyes squinted at the pain that radiated through his face. “You've got a wicked right hook.”

“Yes, well, in my line of work I tend to need to be able to defend myself. Apologies, for the nose.” Lestrade waved his hand in dismissal of the apology and, once his nose stopped bleeding, cleaned himself up with a handkerchief and looked around where they now stood.

“So, Molly and John?” He asked gently, as if trying not to provoke Sherlock.

“I have no idea where they are. They ran a different direction. It would take far too long to try and find them.” Sherlock said, trying to keep the twinge of sadness out of his voice, and failing by the look that now graced the Detective Inspector's face.

“I'm sure they're still trying to find a town. John knows his cardinal directions, I'm sure they'll be somewhere safe soon.”

“What about us?” Sherlock asked, his gaze fixed on Lestrade. “I, admittedly, deleted my cardinal directions to make room for more important things. I don't suppose you know North from South?”

“As it happens, I do.” Lestrade beamed as if he had accomplished something that a boyscout wouldn't have easily known and started off. Sherlock, somewhat reluctantly, followed behind him. He wasn't used to Lestrade being the one that knew what he was doing. In fact, Sherlock was used to the complete opposite. The two walked quietly for a while until they came to a clearing and stopped just on the edge of the forest. There was a fence wrapping all the way around the field, for as far as the eye could see.

“A farm.” Sherlock stated as Lestrade began to climb over the fence. Sherlock caught his arm and pulled him back. “Going out into that field will make you very easy to spot and shoot. I don't suppose you can outrun a bullet?”

“I don't believe I can.” Lestrade answered.

“Best go around then. Surely we'll eventually find the rest of the farm and the people that own it. Then we can concentrate on trying to find Molly and John.”

“Maybe they're already here.”

“Unlikely.” Sherlock answered coldly. “They ran in a different direction. If they were headed this way we would have, most likely, run into them on their way here. Once we've secured our safety we'll employ the help of the local police force and find our friends.”

They started off around the border of the field when Sherlock could have sworn he heard a familiar tone. It sounded like the ringer he had set on his mobile, but he hadn't seen that since Moriarty captured him. He looked around, dialing his hearing in on the chimes and pinpointed it. Whirling around, he noticed the small, black device perched upon an old tree stump. The screen was glowing and the word 'blocked” was displayed across it. Sherlock walked over and picked up the device, swiping to answer the call.

“Good show,” Moriarty's voice rang over the speaker before Sherlock could say anything to indicate that he had answered the call. “but you're not out of the woods yet.”

“If you can see us, why don't you just shoot us and end our misery?” Sherlock asked, looking around slowly, trying not to alert Moriarty that he was scanning the forest for him.

“That would spoil all the fun. I'm sure you won't leave your darling Molly out in the big bad woods, especially with that painful injury. Then, of course, there's John. You couldn't leave the woman you love and your best friend behind. I'll have plenty more chances to shoot you, Sherlock Holmes.”

“You said that once we'd reached safety you would leave us be.” Sherlock shot back, no longer trying to hide any emotions that might wash over him.

“I did. But, if you come back into my domain, you won't be in safety anymore, now will you?”

“Where are Molly and John?”

“If I knew that, I wouldn't be talking to you. Now I've got a new game to play. See who can find Molly and John first. Last one there's a rotten egg.” Sherlock could hear the grin on Moriarty's face in the tone of his voice. The line went dead and Sherlock felt like hurling his mobile against a tree in his anger, but he knew that would do no good. Instead, he dialed the police immediately.

“What's going on?” Lestrade asked, walking back toward Sherlock.

“Moriarty. We're still in danger. We need to find John and Molly and get out of this place, and quickly.”

“I thought you said we wouldn't be able to find them alone?”

“Ah, hello, I'd like to report two missing persons.” Sherlock said, breaking his conversation with Lestrade off and giving his full attention to the person on the other end of the phone. “Their names are Molly Hooper and John Watson. They're somewhere in the forest, can you pinpoint my location? Good. They're in a great amount of danger and need to be found as soon as possible. Miss Hooper has broken her ankle. If you don't find them quickly, they'll be killed.”

Sherlock ended his call and stuffed his mobile into the pocket of his trousers, then set off in the direction that he and Lestrade had just come from. A new fury and determination was evident in every fiber of his being. He knew that Lestrade more than likely had a million questions running through his mind, but Sherlock didn't have time to answer any of them. He had to find Molly and John, and quickly. The more time they spent out in the wilderness with the monster that hunted them, the smaller their chances of survival got. Sherlock was almost running over the treacherous terrain, being careful to watch for traps, it would be so easy to step in one or turn an ankle on the rocky ground in the forest. They'd all found that out first hand when it had happened to Molly. Lestrade was having an admittedly hard time keeping up with the consulting detective, both in mental and physical aspects of the endeavor. He stumbled more than a few times, but managed to stay somewhat close on Sherlock's heels until he stopped abruptly, causing Lestrade to bump into him. He straightened himself quickly as Sherlock shot a warning glance at him, then went back to observing the woods around them.

Sherlock looked at the ground, they had just gotten back to the stream where the incident had occurred, trying to puzzle out which way John and Molly had gone exactly by looking at the footprints John had left in the soft ground around the water. His eyes darted from one print to another, trying to make sense of it all. Just when he thought he had figured it out, his trail ran cold and he had to start back from the beginning.

“Did you see which way they went?” Sherlock asked in a demanding voice, never taking his eyes off of the trampled ground.

“It was kind of hard to keep track of everyone in the panic. I can't say for sure.” Lestrade answered. Sherlock shot up and turned violently toward him, fury burning in his deep green eyes as he turned on Lestrade.

“Then tell me, what _exactly_ is the point of you?!” He spat. Lestrade reeled, he had never seen such absolute fury from Sherlock before. It didn't seem like him, this man that was so cold and calculating, so without emotion. To be completely honest, Lestrade hadn't even been sure that Sherlock was capable of emotion at all. Something inside Sherlock had changed since this whole endeavor started, and Lestrade wasn't completely sure that it was for the better.

“There has to be some way to figure out which way they've gone.” Sherlock muttered, obviously frustrated that he couldn't deduce something as simple as which direction someone ran. “By the depth of the depressions left in the soil from John's hurried actions, I would assume that he bolted in this direction initially.” Sherlock pointed opposite the direction that he had run when the shots had been fired. “But from there, it's hard to say if John might have taken a sudden turn or veered off in a different direction.”

“Can we follow his footprints?” Lestrade asked, but he knew that it was a stupid question the moment it passed his lips just from the look Sherlock was giving him.

“After you get so far into the forest, the ground is less soil and more rock. You can't leave footprints in rock, so tracking them from here will be nearly impossible. I suppose we could wander around looking for broken twigs to try and get a direction that they _may_ have gone in, but even that will give us no definite answer. We need more people out here looking.”

“The police are on their way, right?”

“Yes. Let's hope that they're a great deal more competent than you and your lot, or they'll lose themselves in the forest instead of helping to find Molly and John.”

“You know, this thing where you insult my general intelligence, it really never gets old.” Lestrade said with a scowl as he and Sherlock scanned the area for any signs of their missing friends.

 

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John had wasted no time scooping Molly back onto his back and starting off in the same direction they had been traveling before his unfortunate fall. Molly couldn't stop herself from thinking about Sherlock and all of the horrible things that could have happened to him. It was impossible for her to think of anything other than him lying dead somewhere in the woods, and that thought made her sick to her stomach. How it was possible for John to keep his wits about him through this whole mess was a mystery to her, but she supposed it had something to do with the fact that he was a soldier. He was so calm and focused that Molly could have almost sworn that he wasn't human. John had kept a quick and even pace since they had set off again, but there was no sign of any civilization for as long as they had been traveling.

“John,” Molly started, her voice almost a whisper, “do you think we'll make it out of here alive?”

“You can't think like that, Molly, you'll drive yourself mad.” John replied, giving her no real answer to the question she had posed to him.

“It's just...Jim is so cruel, do you really think he'll keep his word? Do you think he'll just let us go? Somehow, I don't think that's something that he's capable of.”

“It's hard to say. He probably won't hurt us once we're back in London. We're never too far away from witnesses there, and he doesn't want to get caught. There weren't any promises that he wouldn't come back after us later, though. Only time will tell. For right now, we just need to focus on getting out of here.”

“I can't stop thinking about Sherlock and Greg. Do you think they're still alive?” Molly asked. She had a feeling that John was glad that she couldn't see his face. He didn't offer an answer to that question either, she didn't like that he was dodging her. “You can be blunt with me, John. I'm perfectly capable of handling whatever it is that you think is going on.”

“I don't think they're dead, but it's very possible that they could have been wounded. Moriarty seemed like he was mainly after Sherlock, and probably out of jealousy because you pay him so much attention. I'd say he thinks that if he gets rid of Sherlock, you'll come running back into his arms. Sherlock is smart, though, as he loves to remind everyone. I'm sure he would have made it out of that mess.”

“Just because he's smart doesn't mean he can run faster than a bullet.” Molly said quietly, hanging her head.

“To be honest, I'm worried about them too, but I have every confidence in Sherlock. He's not going to leave you alone in this world, Molly. No matter how strange it is for everyone else to believe, he really does feel strongly about you. You should have seen the way he moped around and beat himself up while he was trying to figure out where Moriarty was hiding you. He didn't sleep at all, he didn't eat, he hardly spoke to anyone. He just sat with his eyes closed in a room until he came up with something. Your message certainly helped. He was running out of leads until you sent that.”

“I've thought a thousand times since we started this whole mess that I shouldn't have sent that message. Maybe if I wouldn't have sent it, everyone wouldn't be in such a mess.”

“Molly, wild horses wouldn't have kept that man from finding you. He was determined. Message or no message, if he had to search the whole bloody continent to find you, he would have. He's still alive, and he's somewhere out there. The two of you will be back together soon, I'm sure of it.” John's voice had a note of confidence that Molly found unfathomable in their current situation. None of them were exactly doing well, but John seemed to speak as if he knew that everything would work out fine in the end.

“How can you be so sure?” Molly asked inquisitively.

“Because he's Sherlock Holmes, and I'll be damned if he lets anyone beat him at anything.” That brought a smile to Molly's face, despite everything that they'd been through. John was so good at making her feel better, even when she felt like all hope was lost. The fact that he and Sherlock got on so famously was a bit of a shock to her, but then again, she couldn't really see how anyone could _not_ like Sherlock. She had lost herself in her new-found comfort when she heard the baying of a hound.

“John, did you hear that?” Molly asked, perking up a bit and listening more closely to see which direction the sound had come from.

“I did, and it came from that way.” John said, stopping in his tracks.

“What if it's Jim? Surely he has things with our scent on them. They're going to find us, John!” Molly began to panic, turning her head quickly in every direction, trying to be alert and watch for the animal that the sound had come from. “What do we do?”

“I can't outrun a dog, not even if I wasn't carrying you.” John said through gritted teeth. “We'll have to hide.”

“Where?” Molly looked around at the landscape, nothing but trees stood around them. Not even the smallest of caves that might conceal them were anywhere to be seen.

“Can you climb up this tree?” The hound bayed again, closer this time. Molly began to hear the sound of footfalls as it approached.

“I can't...my ankle.” Molly stammered, bile rising in her stomach as she thought of what might happen. She could hear voices now, getting closer and closer as John turned in place, trying to find somewhere for them to hide.

“Just be brave, Molly.” John said, turning to face the direction that the sounds were coming from. They could see a large bloodhound making it's way toward them now, could hear the footsteps of people following, and had accepted their fate. This would be the end. Molly squeezed her eyes shut as she heard the hound again and the footsteps of the people following stopped. She hugged her arms around John's neck tightly as she prepared herself for the worst.

“Molly...” John said quietly, and was that relief she heard in his voice? Molly looked up through her hair expecting to see the dastardly villain they had been running from the whole time only to find the friendly faces of people dressed in police uniforms.

“Are you John Watson and Molly Hooper?” A tall man with dark hair and eyes asked in a thick Scottish accent as he approached the dog that had stopped in front of John and put a leash around the beast's neck.

“Yes.” John answered calmly.

“We received a call earlier today informing us that you'd been lost in the forest. My name is D.I. Carter, and I'm here to take you home.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“Sherlock, shouldn't we have met up with the police before starting off to search for Molly and John?” Lestrade asked through his panting. Trying to keep up with Sherlock's long strides had worn him out, and he was having trouble talking through his gasping breaths.

“We would have lost valuable time doing that.” Sherlock replied without so much as a glance back to see how Lestrade was doing. The only thing on his mind was finding his friends, he didn't care what the consequences of that might be as long as they were safe at the end of the day. Sherlock heard his ring tone and answered his mobile without even looking at the screen.

“What?” He snapped, still looking around for clues as to where John had taken Molly.

“Tetchy, Sherlock, is that any way to greet a friend.” Moriarty said through the line, a smug tone to his voice.

“What do you want?”

“Just to tell you that I have your dear Molly in my sights. Your little search party has found her, and John, it's a shame that it will all be for nothing.”

“I swear, if you harm a single hair on her head, I will hunt you down and kill you. Slowly, painfully, and with no mercy.” Sherlock didn't normally threaten anyone, but this man had brought him to his wit's end. The sheer fury in his voice even frightened Lestrade. Maybe Donovan had been right about him after all.

“I doubt you'll have the will to do anything after I end her life.”

“You'd be surprised.”

“Say goodbye to Molly, Sherlock.” Moriarty said and then Sherlock heard a gunshot. A single shot that rang through the phone and through the forest that they stood in. His heart could have stopped. His eyes grew wide as the call ended and all he could think to do was scream.

“Molly,” it started as a whisper, but as soon as he gained his voice, he shouted louder than he had ever shouted before. “Molly!”

“Sherlock, what's happened?” Lestrade asked, still frightened by what had just happened. His fright grew even more seeing the look of anguish on Sherlock's face. Lestrade didn't pride himself on being a deductive genius, but he didn't have to be to figure out what had probably just happened. He could see Sherlock's knees begin to buckle and rushed to his side to try and hold him up. It was no use, though, and he only managed to ease his fall onto a large rock. The two of them were quiet for a moment. Sherlock sat with his head in his hands, curled into an uncomfortable looking shape, when they heard a faint voice from somewhere in the forest.

“Sherlock!” The voice was far off, but Sherlock couldn't mistake it for anyone else. It was Molly. Moriarty had lied. Maybe he didn't count on them being as close together as they actually were. That shot was meant to put Sherlock off, to make him give up on his search, but it didn't work. No matter what Moriarty did to keep them apart, he would always find her. He instantly jumped to his feet and took off in the direction he thought the voice had come from, not caring if Lestrade was following or not.

“Molly!” He shouted again, trying to get her to respond so that he could keep on the trail. He heard his name again, closer this time, and ran harder than he had ever run before toward the sweet sound of Molly's voice. It felt like forever before he stumbled upon a large group of people, some looked like police men, and he pushed his way through them, still muttering Molly's name the whole way. When he got to the front of the large crowd of people, he saw Molly sitting on the ground beside someone who was laid out in an awkward position on the rocky ground. He didn't even have time to register who it might be. He simply ran to Molly, pulled her to her feet, and planted a feverish kiss on her lips as he held her tightly to his body.

“Sherlock, someone's been shot.” she mumbled through his affection. He almost hadn't even noticed the person that was laying on the rocky ground, but when he realized who it was he was racked with grief all over again. John Watson lay on the ground with his eyes squeezed tightly shut, a bullet wound in his left thigh. Sherlock never let go of Molly, in fact, his grip got tighter as he realized what had happened.

“John.” He said, allowing himself to loose his grip on Molly and sink to the ground beside his friend. John opened his eyes slowly and looked at Sherlock with a pain in his eyes that Sherlock had never seen.

“Nice to see you again, it's about bloody time.” John replied quietly. The crowd had positioned themselves around John in such a way that anyone looking in from the outside would not be able to see him. “The idea here is to make Moriarty think that he's killed me. So try not to blow the cover or he might actually succeed.”

“The femoral artery...:

“Hasn't been hit. I'll live, as long as we make him think I didn't.” John winced as he spoke, but he took the pain well. He'd been shot before, but that didn't mean he'd gotten used to the pain. “Put pressure on the wound, we've got to stop the bleeding.”

Sherlock did as he was told after Molly had supplied him with a scarf that one of the bystanders had given up in an effort to save John's life. The police men had dispersed, searching around the area for the shooter. If Moriarty was smart, and of course he was, he would be long gone by now.

“Call in an ambulance.” Lestrade said to one of the bystanders and they did as they were told. They only had to wait ten more minutes before paramedics came in to take care of John.

“You have to make it look like I was killed here.” John whispered to the men as they placed him on a gurney. They only had to explain a bit more before the paramedics agreed to the charade and covered John with a white sheet to carry him out of the woods. Sherlock carried Molly along after them, the both of them looking terribly upset at what had happened. Sherlock had no doubt that Moriarty had left the scene of the crime shortly after shooting John, but it wouldn't hurt to keep up the act until they were clear of the forest.

It took an excruciatingly long time to clear the trees and make it into the back of the ambulance with John but, with Sherlock's help, Molly climbed in and watched the paramedics close the doors behind them. He insisted on riding with her, even through the paramedic's complaints. Molly couldn't explain the feeling of pure joy that washed over her when the engine started and took them off to a hospital. She still wasn't sure exactly where they were, but they had made it to civilization, and that had been the deal. If they made it to a town, Jim would let them go free. Yet, in the back of her head, she heard a nagging voice trying to tell her that he would be back. At the moment, she couldn't allow herself to think about it, though. Maybe now everything would return to normal. Although, she hoped everything wouldn't be exactly the same. She and Sherlock had entered new territory together, and she wondered how long it would last once their lives returned to normal.

The ambulance pulled up outside of a small hospital and the paramedic's rolled John, who had removed the sheet from his face once the doors of the ambulance were safely closed, out and through a set of double doors into the hospital to be further examined by a doctor. Molly was gently removed from the back of the ambulance and placed in a wheel chair, which Sherlock insisted on pushing in. He wasn't about to leave her side, and that gave her some reassurance. The whole time Molly was put through blood tests, x-rays, and people prodding at the scars on her back, Sherlock was never far away. He asked about John every once in a while and was assured that he was fine and would be placed in a more permanent room for the rest of the week shortly. The hospital staff assured Sherlock that they would get the room number as soon as it was available to them. When all the tests on Molly were done and she had been fitted with a brand new cast, they were cleared to go and see John. Molly, of course, still needed to be wheeled around in a wheel chair, because she and Sherlock both knew just how graceful she would be on a pair of crutches. John was resting when they entered the room.

“Ah, everyone's all right then?” He asked sleepily. He had clearly been given some kind of pain reliever that made him drowsy, and Sherlock and Molly both knew that he wouldn't be conscious for too much longer.

“We haven't talked to Lestrade, we assume he must be talking to the police in this area about what exactly happened to us.” Sherlock answered in his usual matter-of-fact tone.

“How are you feeling, John?” Molly asked, she knew that he couldn't be doing too well after being shot, but the courtesy seemed like something that needed to be said.

“Much better now that we're out of that damned forest.” John answered, his words slurring a bit in his drug induced drowsiness.

“That's good to hear.” Molly smiled. “We'll let you get some rest and be back tomorrow to check on you.”

Sherlock was about to add something, but he realized that John had already drifted to sleep and decided to hold back whatever he had to say until the next day. He wheeled Molly out of the room and down a long hall to a lift that would take them back to the bottom floor. They would need to find lodging for the night and a nice meal before bed, and the first proper one they'd had since being taken hostage. Sherlock wasn't sure what would happen next, but the only thing that mattered at the moment was that Molly, and everyone else, was now safe. How long that would last was yet to be determined.

 

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

Molly had almost managed to push the memories of her horrific experiences in Scotland, which she no longer wished to visit ever again, out of her mind entirely by the time John was discharged from hospital and they were allowed to travel back to London. In fact, the whole group of them seemed to have forgotten what had happened. Sherlock was uncharacteristically cheery as he helped Molly out of the cab that had taken them to 221B Baker Street from the airport, and John smiled and said his goodbyes to Lestrade as the cab pulled away from the curb with its only remaining passenger. Mrs. Hudson was delighted to see them again and, although they didn't really offer her any information on what had happened while they were away, she seemed to know that they had really been put through the ringer. She followed them up the stairs and into the small flat that Sherlock and John shared and Molly lit up at the sight of her little orange tabby sprawled out in Sherlock's chair.

“Toby!” She smiled and practically launched herself toward the feline, who had now looked up to see who had disturbed his slumber. Sherlock helped Molly over to the chair and supported her weight as she scooped the little fuzz ball into her arms and stroked his head affectionately. “Thank you so much for taking care of him, Mrs. Hudson. If anything would have happened to him while I was away...”

“Oh, it was really nothing, dear. He's such a polite little fellow, sometimes he kept me company in my own flat. It's so quiet and lonely when the boys aren't here.” Mrs. Hudson said sweetly, her joy at John and Sherlock being back in their flat radiated through her whole body. Sherlock left Molly in his chair and walked back into his bedroom, assuring her that he would only be a moment. John had only just hobbled into the kitchen to put the kettle on, now he really had a use for that cane he was using when he and Sherlock first met, when Sherlock strode back into the sitting room holding his belstaff.

“I didn't know you had more than one of those.” Molly said, not thinking anything of the look of concentration on Sherlock's face, he basically always looked like that.

“I don't.” He replied, which made John look up from what he was doing in the kitchen and Molly gave a slight gasp at the realization of what that must mean.

“He was here, before we even got back?” John asked, completely forgetting about what he had been doing.

“It seems he isn't done with us yet. He left me this note.” Sherlock handed a small slip of paper to John who read it aloud.

“You'll be hearing from me, Sherlock.” The words sent a chill through Molly's entire body. The same exact words Jim had said at the pool before he had dragged her off to be abused. She didn't know exactly what it meant, but it couldn't be good for anyone, and it was possibly the worst for her. Toby seemed to sense her unrest and brushed himself against her for reassurance.

“So he'll be back.” Molly said without a doubt, she had always thought that he would be back, he wouldn't let them all off that easily.

“Indeed. The question is, when?” Sherlock said, staring off at the wall, obviously thinking. Mrs. Hudson had already gone back to her flat, and it was probably for the best. She didn't need to be dragged into all the dangerous things that the three of them were left to face. They sat in silence for a long while before they heard the door open and close downstairs, and footsteps coming up to their door. Molly was incredibly relieved when the person that turned up was Sherlock's older brother, Mycroft, instead of James Moriarty.

“Hello, brother dear. I trust you're doing well after your adventures in Scotland.” Mycroft drawled as he leaned on his ever-present umbrella and nodded his greetings to both Molly and John.

“We would be better if we hadn't just received a promise that we'd be having more adventures of a similar kind.” Sherlock answered, taking the note from John and walking over to hand it to Mycroft. He gazed uninterested at the note for a moment before stuffing it into the pocket of his coat.

“We'll take steps to make sure that he's found and kept under control.” Mycroft said lazily, his blue eyes fixed on his brother.

“Ah, yes, that worked so wonderfully the first time. Tell me, how did he escape your little pets in order to come and kidnap Miss Hooper after I expressly told you not to allow that to happen?”

“I assure you, it was no error on my part. The man that was put in charge of that has since been let go.”

“How reassuring.” Sherlock growled, walking back to take his seat on the arm of Molly's chair.

“John, how's the leg?” Mycroft asked, changing the subject, if only slightly.

“The doctors say that I may never be able to walk without this cane. I guess I shouldn't have projected this injury on myself previously, you could say this is karma catching up to me.” John joked with a smile.

“Yes.” Mycroft smiled in a way that said 'you can't possibly believe in that nonsense' and turned his attention toward Molly. “How about you, Miss Hooper, I trust your ankle is healing well?”

“I should only have a couple more weeks in this cast, then I'll be able to return to work.” Molly answered with a polite smile. She couldn't meet Mycroft's eyes, though, no matter how hard she tried. Something about them made her incredibly uncomfortable.

“That's all very good news. Sherlock, I suppose you haven't been taking any cases since you've returned home?”

“Only the ones I can solve without leaving the flat. Molly needs my help, as well as John, and with the new development of that note I wouldn't feel comfortable leaving either of them alone and defenseless.”

“Defenseless?” John spat the word at Sherlock as if it were the highest insult he could have given him. Sherlock ignored him, though, listening intently to his brother.

“We'll I have just the thing for that, there's a case that could very much benefit from your involvement.”

“What makes you think I'd be willing?” Sherlock asked warily, as if he didn't want to know the full details of what his brother needed from him. He knew that anything that Mycroft brought him would be far too interesting to turn down.

“Because the government is rather desperate for someone to solve this and you aren't in a position to turn them down.” Mycroft said, hanging his umbrella on his left forearm and digging through a briefcase he had been holding to pull out a file. “Tell me, do you know anything about this woman?”

“No.” Sherlock said, taking the manilla folder from his brother and leafing through the pictures. John limped over to his side and peered into the folder himself, his eyes growing wide at whatever pictures he was seeing. Sherlock's face, however, stayed uncaring and Molly wondered what the file held.

“Well then, you should be paying more attention. She's been at the center of two political scandals in the last year, and recently ended the marriage of a prominent novelist by having an affair with both participants separately.” Mycroft explained as Sherlock continued to look over the pictures.

“You know I don't concern myself with trivia. Who is she?”

“Irene Adler, professionally known as The Woman.”

“Professionally?” John asked, raising an eyebrow, never taking his gaze off of the pictures that Sherlock was flipping through, and a bit too quickly for his liking.

“There are many names for what she does. She prefers 'dominatrix'.” Mycroft smiled tightly.

“Dominatrix.” Sherlock said, thoughtfully. Molly scowled at the fact that the term had piqued his interest.

“Don't be alarmed,” Mycroft started. “it has to do with sex.”

“Sex doesn't alarm me.” Sherlock shot back, handing the file to John so that he could pay more attention to his brother. John didn't seem entirely opposed and continued to look at the pictures that were inside the folder.

“How would you know?” Mycroft grinned and Sherlock glared at him. Molly couldn't help but want to interject. Sex definitely did not alarm him, at least not in the experience she'd shared with him.

“She provides- shall we say- recreational scolding, for those who enjoy that sort of thing and are prepared to pay for it. Those are all photos from her website.” Mycroft continued.

“And I assume this Adler woman has some compromising photographs.”

“Indeed.”

“Photographs of whom?”

“I'm afraid that's classified.”

“You can't tell us anything?” John asked, an exasperated expression on his face. Sure, Sherlock was sharp, but he would need a bit more to go on if he was going to attempt to find photographs of someone. Namely, which person's photographs he was looking for. Mycroft eyed Molly suspiciously and then looked back to Sherlock.

“I can tell you it's a young person...a young _female_ person.” Mycroft hinted, hoping that Molly wouldn't catch on. John looked so startled that Molly thought he might drop the folder he was holding, and a devilish smirk spread itself across Sherlock's face that made Molly feel like she could melt into her chair.

“How many photographs?” Sherlock asked.

“A considerable number, apparently.”

“Do Miss Adler and this young female person appear in these photographs together?”

“Yes, they do.”

“And I assume in a number of compromising scenarios.”

“An imaginative range, we are assured.” Mycroft looked somewhat pleadingly at Sherlock. “Will you take the case?”

“What case? Pay her, now and in full. As Miss Adler remarks in her masthead, 'know when you are beaten'.”

“She doesn't want anything. She got in touch, she informed us that the photographs existed, and she indicated that she had no intention to use them to extort either money or favor.”

“Oh,” Sherlock's face lit up and a smile spread across it. “a power play. A power play with the most powerful family in Britain. Now _that_ is a dominatrix. Oh, this is getting rather fun, isn't it?” John looked over to Molly and saw the scowl forming on her face at how excited Sherlock was getting over another woman. Of course, Sherlock didn't know that something like that might bother Molly, he was rather absentminded when it came to romance, but that's what John was there for.

“Sherlock...” John said, which snapped Sherlock out of his self perpetuating state of joy and back into reality.

“Where is she?” Sherlock asked, going back to sit on the arm of the chair that Molly was sitting in.

“In London, currently. She's staying...” Mycroft started but was cut off by his younger brother.

“Text me the details. I'll be in touch by the end of the day. I'll need some equipment, of course.”

“Anything you require.”

“Good, now, if you could kindly leave the flat, we have a lot of preparing to do.” Sherlock said, rather rudely, and helped Molly to her feet, brushing her sleeping cat off of her lap. Mycroft rolled his eyes, but did as he was asked and left the flat without so much as another word, leaving the file with all the pictures in the care of John.

“What are you going to do?” Molly asked as Sherlock looped an arm around her waist and lead her down the hall and into his bedroom.

“I'm going to find a safe place for you to stay, and then I'm going to go have a meeting with this Adler woman. Getting these photographs should be quite easy, as long as everything goes according to plan.”

“What about Moriarty? What if he comes for me while you're gone? What if he comes after you and John?” Molly could feel the panic rising inside her. She hadn't been away from Sherlock since they'd made it out of the forest, and that had been about three weeks. She was finding it hard to come to terms with what was about to happen. Not to mention she wasn't incredibly excited about Sherlock going off to find a dominatrix, regardless of the fact that her relationship with Sherlock hadn't been entirely defined.

“We'll all be perfectly fine, Molly. John and I will drop you off with Lestrade. He may not be competent enough to solve crimes without me, but he knows how to use a gun and will be a good choice to leave you with for protection. As far as John and I go, I've never seen a man that's as good with a pistol as John, and he'll be bringing his weapon along. Everything will be perfectly fine. Do not worry about us. We'll be back before you know it.” Sherlock had said so much to try and reassure Molly that it almost caught her off guard when he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead and brushed her chestnut hair away from her face.

“I'll always come back to you.” Sherlock then left her standing beside the bed and walked over to his wardrobe, which held an alarming number of disguises, and pulled a small white rectangle out. He placed it on the dresser, then removed the white shirt he had been wearing and changed into a black one, slipping the white rectangle into the collar after he'd buttoned the very top button, then slipped on his black suit jacket. He turned and smiled peculiarly at her. The sight of him in solid black was something she couldn't deny that she liked, although the appearance of a vicker wasn't exactly a turn on. However, the next question he asked was an easy one.

“How do I look?”

“Magnificent.” Molly said without thinking it through. Her cheeks flushed a bit and Sherlock smiled.

“Good. Now, let's go.” He swept Molly up into his arms before she could protest, and she couldn't help a giggle from escaping her lips as she was whisked down the hall and into the sitting room. John stood waiting dressed in a simple plaid shirt and some jeans, his black coat over everything. He looked a bit baffled at what he was seeing, but pushed that aside as Sherlock sat Molly down in his chair and donned his belstaff and scarf. John grabbed Molly's crutches and Sherlock picked her up again, carrying her down the stairs and out the door so that John could hail a cab. They got to Scotland Yard quickly and Sherlock allowed Molly to use her crutches in public as to not make a scene. John had agreed to wait in the cab until Sherlock dropped Molly in the care of Lestrade.

“Sherlock. Please be careful.” Molly said while they were on their way up in the lift.

“Of course I'll be careful. I'm always careful.” Sherlock said, but he knew that Molly didn't believe a word he had said by the look she was giving him. “I promise you, I will be careful. This woman isn't dangerous, she just has a few naughty pictures. I'll be back to get you before the sun goes down.”

“I hope you're right.” Molly said, then allowed herself a smile and leaned into Sherlock and he placed a kiss on the top of her head just before the doors to the lift opened to reveal Lestrade standing in front of them. His brow furrowed a bit to see the two of them standing in such close proximity. No one could get used to Sherlock showing affection, and Molly had the feeling Lestrade would be the one that took the longest to come around.

“I trust I'm leaving her in good care.” Sherlock said as Molly hobbled slowly out of the lift to stand beside Lestrade.

“I'll watch after her, you have my word.” Lestrade replied with a smile. “We have some catching up to do anyway. I haven't seen you lot since John went into hospital in Scotland.”

“I'll be back to pick her up before sundown.” Sherlock said, and smiled at Molly just before the doors closed.

Lestrade and Molly sat chatting practically all day with only small breaks for the loo or to get refreshments from the room with all the vending machines. She wanted for nothing the whole time she was there, and almost didn't realize what time it was until she peered out the window to see that it was completely dark outside.

“What time is it?” She asked, a shot of panic rushing through her.

“A quarter to ten.” Lestrade answered, suddenly realizing what Sherlock had said before he left. “I'll give John a ring.”

Lestrade walked out of the room to talk on his mobile and entered five minutes later with a look on his face that told Molly she wouldn't like what he had to say.

“Let's get to Baker Street, everything didn't exactly go as planned.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Molly did all she could to struggle up the stairs to 221B by herself, but in the end Lestrade helped her the rest of the way. All she wanted was to burst into the flat and see Sherlock sitting in his chair, but when they finally walked in John was the only one in view.

“What happened? Is everything okay?” She asked quickly, practically before John even knew she and Lestrade had come into the building.

“Sherlock's been drugged, but everything is fine, I promise.” John said hurriedly when he saw the panic in Molly's eyes.

“Drugged with what?”

“I'm not exactly sure without running tests, but Mycroft assured me that he would be fine without medical assistance, so he was brought back here to sleep it off.”

Molly took her crutches from Lestrade and made her way down the narrow hallway and to the door of Sherlock's bedroom. She turned back to look at John before entering.

“Is it okay if I go in to see him?” She asked.

“He's pretty drowsy, I'm not completely sure he'll know that you're there at the moment, but if you'd like to go in to see him, be my guest.”

“Thank you.” Molly said, then turned the doorknob to walk into the dark room. It was exactly as she remembered it from before, a perfect mess, the perfect summation of Sherlock's entire being in one small room on Baker Street. She looked to the bed to find Sherlock sprawled in a rather uncomfortable looking position, the sheets pulled up to his chin as he lay on his stomach. She knew she should let him sleep, but she just couldn't, not until she made sure he was okay.

“Sherlock.” She muttered softly,taking a seat on the bed and placing her hand gently on his shoulder. He seemed to register her touch and jerked his head slightly, as if he was struggling to wake himself.

“Molly?” He half slurred, turning over in bed. “How did I get here?”

“John brought you, he said you'd been drugged. Are you okay?”

“Where is she?” He asked again, sleepily looking around the darkened room.

“Where's who?” Molly asked, confused. Was he talking about her? It was evident that the drug was still in his system, she couldn't make sense of a single thing he was saying.

“The woman.”

“What woman?”

“The _woman_ woman!” Sherlock said, trying to sit up in his bed but failing miserably and falling back into his pillow.

“I...” Molly didn't know what to say. Hadn't that been Irene Adler's other name, The Woman? Why would he be looking for her? “Let me go get John.”

Molly hurriedly got off of the bed and left Sherlock alone, hobbling back down the hall and into the sitting room where John and Lestrade now sat drinking tea and chatting a bit. When she came into the room, they both instantly looked concerned. Her confusion showed plainly on her face as she contemplated what exactly she was going to ask John.

“He keeps talking about The Woman.” Molly finally said, breaking the silence that had lasted too long upon her appearance.

“Irene Adler. That's the woman that drugged him. She's a real trip, and definitely not afraid to do anything it takes to win.” John's brow furrowed a bit as he recalled the events that took place earlier that day.

“She didn't hurt either of you, did she?” Molly's concerns were still with what exactly had happened between Sherlock and Irene Adler, but she didn't want to be too indiscreet about getting the information from John. Besides, she was still concerned for John, as well.

“Not me, but Sherlock might have a few welts from her riding crop. From what I could get from him while he was still conscious, he put up a fight giving her mobile back to her. She beat it out of his hand, but he doesn't seem to have gotten any injuries from that, only a few red spots on his face that have probably already faded.”

“When do you think he'll be himself again?” Molly asked quietly, wondering if Sherlock would even remember what had happened and whether she should ask him about it later. A part of her was dying to know, but another part knew that it wasn't actually any of her business. She and Sherlock had never agreed to an actual relationship, there really hadn't been time for that sort of thing. If he wanted to see other women, there was nothing she could do about it, nothing was official, but she felt like it should be. After everything they went through together, she just couldn't understand why Sherlock hadn't made any efforts to take their relationship further. Of course there were always the little displays of some sort of affection, but did that really mean anything? Another topic for later, she supposed, and she feared the waiting might kill her before it was over.

“Mycroft said he'll be better in the morning. I'm sure he'd be happy to tell you about what happened today. He usually likes to show off what he's accomplished with his intellect.” John smiled as if to comfort her.

“Well, I'd better be off.” Lestrade interjected, pushing himself to his feet then placing his tea cup and saucer back on the tray that John had brought out. “I'm sure I'll be seeing the three of you again soon.”

“I'll count on it.” John replied and shut the door behind Greg after they had finished their goodbyes. He looked at Molly after a brief silence. “You're worried about what happened today.”

“Well, yes. What exactly happened?”

“I think he should tell you, but I also don't think you should be so worried. I'm sure you know that Sherlock will be completely blunt about it, but just hear him out until the end.”

“I'll keep that in mind.” Molly thought for a moment, but then turned back toward the hall. “I think I'll go to bed now. I'm eager to see what he has to tell me tomorrow. I'm glad you're both safe, see you in the morning.”

“Good night, Molly.” John said politely and then climbed the stairs to his own room while Molly made her way back to Sherlock's. When she got back to the door she saw that it was cracked open slightly and Sherlock's silhouette was visible and leaning against the door frame.

“Sherlock? Why are you out of bed?” She asked, moving a bit more quickly on her crutches than she was used to. Sherlock moved out of the way clumsily and collapsed onto the bed with a groan.

“That woman...” He shakily pointed toward the door that was now closed to reveal his coat hanging on the hook. “she brought my coat.”

“Sorry, what?” Molly asked, but it was too late. He had already fallen back into unconsciousness and was snoring lightly. Molly tried to forget everything he'd said that night. Whoever Irene Adler was, he was incredibly interested in her. Molly could only hope that she wasn't the romantic type of interesting and more of the case type of interesting. She made her way to the other side of the bed and sat down. Usually she wouldn't sleep in the clothes she'd worn that day, but Sherlock was always the one that helped her change into her comfortable pajamas. He was a bit indisposed tonight, however, and she would only feel awkward asking John for help. She climbed under the sheets with Sherlock and laid on her side, staring at the sleeping man and wondering what his secrets were. She would likely never know most of them, just because he was Sherlock and he would never completely open up to anyone.

When she was little, she never imagined that she would fall in love with a man that was so mysterious and brooding. Someone that couldn't tell her everything about his life. And she really didn't expect that she would be completely fine with every one of those things. Being involved with Sherlock was never an ordinary thing for anyone, so why would whatever she had with him be any different? She managed a small smile, even through all the worrying questions whirling through her mind, and closed her eyes to drift into a restless sleep.

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

Sherlock woke up with what he could only explain as the worst hangover he had ever experienced. More accurately, the only hangover he had ever experienced. He only knew what it might be like from research and what he had overheard during his time spent in university. Whatever that woman had injected into him the night before, it was really taking its toll now. He rolled over to see Molly sleeping peacefully beside him, knowing that he must have worried her to death coming home in the state he was in. He didn't really remember anything after he had been injected, save telling John a few key things that he didn't want to be forgotten. He briefly remembered seeing Molly at some point the night before, but their conversation had escaped him. Sherlock usually wasn't one to worry, but he wondered if anything he had said to Molly last night had hurt his relationship with her in any way.

He decided to push himself to his feet, although he was a bit shaky at first, and go to the sitting room to see if John had bothered to make any tea yet. It was fairly early, for Sherlock anyway, and he never knew what exactly went on in 221B before he was awake. He quietly closed the door to his bedroom and strode down the hall to see John sitting in his chair with his back turned toward Sherlock, sipping tea and reading the morning paper. John seemed to sense someone coming into the room and turned to greet whoever it may be.

“Bloody hell, Sherlock, you look like death. How are you feeling?” He asked, a concerned look plastered on his face. Sherlock liked it much better when the concern was coming from Molly, but he decided he would accept it from John as well.

“I would assume this is how most people feel after a night of heavy drinking.” Sherlock replied, grabbing a mug from one of the cupboards in the kitchen and filling it to the brim with the tea that sat in the teapot beside John's chair. Usually he took cream and sugar, but he didn't think he could stomach it today.

“Molly was rather worried about you last night, you know. You'll have to tell her about what happened.”

“Why do I have to tell her about the case? It doesn't involve her.”

“Well, assuming that you have intentions on continuing to be, in some way, romantically involved with Molly, you should probably mention that you spent the majority of your day yesterday with a naked woman that was not, in fact, Molly Hooper.”

“Please, her state of dress had absolutely no effect on me.” Sherlock snapped at John, taking a deep drink from his mug.

“No effect? Sherlock, you can't be serious. I heard you stuttering and tripping over yourself when you were trying to deduce her. You can't tell me that you weren't a bit flustered.” John was giving Sherlock a look of complete disbelief, and Sherlock hated it. Why did he feel the need to discuss this topic? Yes, The Woman had, indeed, caught him off guard. However, the fact that she was nude had no adverse effects on him. Or did it? Now he was confusing himself, probably another side effect of the drug she'd injected him with.

“I just...lost my train of thought.”

“Yeah, you lost it in her curves.” John shot back.

“I never once looked at anything but that woman's face. Honestly, John, do you think I'm an animal?” Sherlock spat, honestly offended at what John was saying. To be completely honest, he might have caught a glimpse of something other than her face, but he didn't believe for a second that he had let himself be distracted by something as trivial as that.

“I wouldn't have blamed you if you did look at something more. It's her job to be attractive.”

“If you think I should speak with Molly about this, then I suppose I'll tell her everything that happened. I fail to see where she should be concerned about it, though.” Sherlock said, trying to keep the subject away from The Woman's looks. She was a fairly attractive woman, but that still didn't mean that she had any effect on him. As hard as he tried to convince himself that she wasn't a problem, it was becoming more and more evident that she might become one.

 

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Molly woke up to find the other side of the bed empty, Sherlock must be feeling better now. That thought sent joy and a twinge of nervousness through her entire body, she would need to confront him about what exactly had happened, and she wasn't sure that she had the words to do so. She rolled out of bed and looked around the room, wondering what this encounter might change in her life. Would she still be allowed to stay here, with Sherlock and John, or would they send her back to her own flat? The flat that held so many dark memories of Jim and everything that had happened to her. She tried to stop thinking about the consequences and her eye caught the manilla folder that John and Sherlock had been so interested in yesterday before they had left to go find Irene Adler. She knew that she shouldn't look inside, who knows what Mycroft might do if he found out she'd been snooping about, but her curiosity got the better of her and she bent down to pick up the folder.

Her heart sank a little when she opened it. Every little fear that Molly had last night was magnified tenfold by the pictures she saw inside. This woman was possibly the most beautiful woman she had ever seen, and her taste for racy activities would pique any man's interest. Dark brown hair tied up in a tight bun, deep blue eyes that seemed to pierce the soul, and a figure that would make any other woman hate her on principal alone. The pictures in the file left little to the imagination and made Molly feel exposed even looking at them. She generally looked down on any woman that would sell her body, but somehow she found a kind of hate for this woman that she had never felt before, and she hadn't even met her yet.

She had just closed the folder and put it back in its original place when Sherlock walked quietly into the room, as if he was trying not to wake her. His body language changed when he realized she was awake, though, and he flipped the switch on the wall to turn on the overhead light. Molly smiled at him and he returned the gesture, sitting down on the side of the bed that she didn't occupy. She could sense that Sherlock was feeling anxious and wondered what his reason was before he started to speak.

“Molly, John tells me that I should let you know everything that happened yesterday when I went to talk to Miss Adler.” He started, at first avoiding eye contact but then committing to it entirely.

“I just want to make sure that you're all right.” Molly said, even though she definitely wanted to know more. However, she didn't want him to feel pressured to tell her anything just because John had told him to do so.

“I'm fine, just feeling a bit ill this morning, nothing I can't handle.” Sherlock paused for a moment and seemed to hesitate before reaching out to take Molly's hand. “I want you to know that nothing that happened yesterday with Irene Adler will change anything between the two of us. I told you that I love you, and that's something that I have never said to anyone else, save perhaps my mother when I was very small. I know you're worried because you've looked at the pictures inside that file folder.”

“I...I was just curious. I didn't mean to pry.” Molly started to defend herself but Sherlock raised another hand to her face and placed his index finger over her lips to hush her.

“I don't care that you looked, Molly, but you don't have any reason to believe that I would even think of leaving your side for that woman. I don't love that woman, I love you, and I want to make sure you know that.”

“I love you too.” Molly repeated the phrase Sherlock had just uttered and she couldn't help a smile from creeping onto her face.

“Now, would you like to hear about what happened?”

“Yes.”

“John and I infiltrated Miss Adler's residence yesterday, I was disguised as a revrend, as you saw before I left. I staged a scene where I was mugged and John was the witness, running to Miss Adler's door to seek shelter. We were let in by her maid and I was shown to a large sitting room while John went to gather medical supplies to clean me up with.”

“Clean you up? What do you mean?” Molly asked. A fake mugging shouldn't have meant he was injured.

“Oh, I had John hit me in the face to make the scene more convincing.”

“Why on Earth...?” Molly started but was cut off.

“John didn't seem to have a problem with it and, under different circumstances, it would have actually been helpful in gaining entry. However, as I was going to tell you later in the story, Miss Adler knew that we were on our way and had decided to let us in regardless. Now, where was I? Ah, John went to get supplies, but before he arrived, Miss Adler had come into the sitting room with me. I didn't know until I looked up to greet her, but she was completely nude upon entering the room.”

“What?” Molly was shocked. Had she really just heard what she thought she'd heard? Sherlock went to investigate a dominatrix and ended up with her standing in front of him completely nude? Her cheeks flushed, more in anger than embarrassment, and she could tell that Sherlock knew her blood was boiling. He squeezed her hand and continued with his story.

“I assure you, I never laid eyes on anything but her face.” He said before picking up where he had left off. “John came in a few moments later, however, and I'm afraid he got an eye full.”

“I'm sure he probably didn't mind.”

“By his body language at the time I'd say he minded considerably. It seemed to make him rather uncomfortable.”

“And you?”

“As I said, I never looked away from her face, so I was perfectly fine.”

“I'm sure she expected to catch you completely off guard with that stunt. Was she upset that it didn't work?” Molly asked, she had a feeling that Sherlock hadn't told her the complete truth.

“Well, I can't say I wasn't affected at all. It was quite a shocking discovery to realize that the woman whose home I was in was standing naked in front of me. I have to admit, I lost my train of thought for a moment, but quickly recovered. Anyway, Miss Adler knew exactly who we were and wasted no time getting down to business. I offered my coat to her so that she wasn't so exposed, as I said before it was making John rather nervous, and we continued with out chat. I weaseled the location of the photos out of her and was about to take them when a band of Americans came rushing in threatening to kill everyone...”

“WHAT?!” Molly gasped. She had been so concerned the night before she thought that someone might have told her that little detail. Her heart almost jumped out of her chest at the thought of Sherlock's life being threatened.

“Relax, Molly, it's obvious how that worked out for them. We managed to subdue them and I took Miss Adler's mobile, as that was the source of the pictures, and John and I went to go search the rest of the house. Miss Adler was relentless and followed us the whole time. She had given me a clue as to how to dispatch our visitors, so I placed a small amount of trust in her and, when she told John to go and check the back door for more intruders, I enforced her request and he did as I asked. Once Miss Adler and I were alone, however, she managed to slip a drug into my system in order to get her mobile back. At first I refused but she hit me with a riding crop and, in combination with the drug she had given me, it was enough to render me helpless and writhing on the floor of her bedroom so that she could retrieve her mobile out of my grasp. That, I'm afraid, is where things get a bit fuzzy. Whatever she gave me, it was quite wonderful. I got lost in the sensations of the drug and couldn't focus on anything else. John told me this morning that he managed to get me back here and he wanted me to talk to you about what had happened. So, there it is.”

“The drug felt wonderful?” Molly asked. Really it was the only thing she could think to ask. She had just been given so much information it was hard to process it all at once.

“I may have forgotten to tell you that I had a bit of a drug problem before, but I'm fully recovered now, I assure you.”

“I'm glad you and John are both safe. I suppose that's all that matters. Only, how did you get your coat back?”

“I'm not entirely sure. I can only assume that, after she escaped the police that we summoned to her home, Miss Adler must have somehow found her way here and dropped it off. I suppose that will always be a mystery to me.” Sherlock said, gazing out the slightly open window as he spoke. He had taken so much effort to reassure Molly that he didn't care for The Woman, but there was still something in the back of her mind that told her otherwise.

“So, are you still looking for her?” She asked, not letting him off the hook that easily.

“We still have to find a way to get those photographs away from her. If she leaks them to the media it would be hell for the client. A 'proper shit storm,' I believe John would call it.”

“That means you'll have to see her again.” Molly's voice had a twinge of disgust that Sherlock immediately picked up on.

“Molly, how many times do I have to tell you? There is absolutely nothing between myself and The Woman. You worry far too much.”

“Then do something for me.” Molly stated with new found confidence.

“Anything.” Sherlock answered.

“Let's make our relationship official.” She said, only regretting her words slightly after they had escaped her lips. “I want to be your girlfriend.”

“Molly, I despise that term. You're clearly not a girl, you're a woman, why should we label ourselves with such childish terms just to please the rest of the world?”

“It isn't for the rest of the world, it's for me. Besides, I think you just don't want me to tell people that you're my boyfriend.”

“Another term I despise. Is there no other way to make you feel better about this?”

“It's not just about making me feel better, Sherlock. I don't want to keep getting strung along behind you for the rest of my life. If you want to have a relationship with me, then we're going to do it properly. I promise I won't use the 'B' word very often.” Molly said in reference to calling Sherlock her boyfriend. She would reserve that only for telling her family and revenge for when he'd done something particularly annoying and not realized it. He seemed to contemplate what she had just said for a moment, then breathed a heavy sigh.

“Fine. I don't imagine it would put you in any more danger than I've already put you in by terming you my significant other. If that's what you want, I'm happy to give it to you.”

“Thank you.” Molly sighed, snuggling into him and gladly accepting a kiss.

“Let's get you out of bed. You can't spend all day in here. Toby wants your attention in the sitting room, and I'd like you to start helping us pick cases. Clients should start arriving soon, it's usually around midday.”

“You want me to help with your work?” Molly asked, a bit taken aback. She had expected just the opposite, to be honest.

“Of course. You're incredibly intelligent and you have a good eye for when someone isn't telling you the truth. You'll be an excellent addition to our little team.” Sherlock smiled down at her as he helped her out of the bed and to her feet. They only spent a few more moments in the room while he helped her dress, and then they made their way to the sitting room where John was waiting with a smile.

“Good morning, Molly. It seems like Sherlock's explanation of yesterday went well.” He said, offering his chair to her. She declined it and took Sherlock's leather arm chair, she liked it when he sat on the arm of it to be close to her, and returned a smile to John.

“More than well, you're now looking at my new boyfriend.” Molly said in a teasing manner. Sherlock rolled his eyes and went to the kitchen to retrieve a mug for Molly's morning tea.

“I thought you promised not to use that word to describe me.” He said as he brought the mug over to Molly and filled it with tea.

“I said not _often_.” Molly teased further. She smiled and he returned the favor just as Toby jumped up into her lap. “Good morning my Toby boy, did you sleep well?”

“So, no word from Mycroft as to where Irene Adler might have gone?” John asked and, as if on cue, the most raunchy noise Molly had ever heard sounded from Sherlock's pocket. She and John both started up at him in bewilderment, and he didn't seem to know what was going on himself as he pulled his mobile from his pocket.

“What was that?” John asked, his eyes as big as saucers as he stared up at Sherlock from his chair.

“Apparently a text.” Sherlock answered but refrained from telling the room exactly what the text said.

“That's not the sound your texts normally make.”

“Well, someone must have gotten my mobile and, apparently as a joke, changed the sound.”

“So every time you get a text now it...” John started, then the mobile made the same orgasmic sound it had made before.

“It would seem so.” Sherlock answered.

“So, I'm wondering, who could have gotten hold of your mobile to change the tone?” John asked, although it was plain to Molly- and surely Sherlock- who exactly John was talking about.

“I'll leave you to your own deductions.” Sherlock said nonchalantly. Mrs. Hudson had bustled up the stairs, as Sherlock promptly switched his mobile to silent, carrying a tray of plates that seemed to have hefty breakfasts for the three flatmates. She tutted her hello as she sat the tray down on the table in the kitchen, then brought a plate to Molly in her chair.

“How are we all this morning?” She asked, smiling at each of them in turn.

“Just fine, Mrs. Hudson, rather busy actually, if you could find your way back to your own flat. Thank you.” Sherlock said, gently pushing Mrs. Hudson back out of the flat and closing and locking the door behind her. She made for the other door to gain entry to the kitchen, but he quickly locked her out there as well.

“We're not busy, what's all that about?” John asked, a bit offended in Mrs. Hudson's stead.

“Mycroft will be here soon. He won't want Mrs. Hudson listening in on whatever it is he has to say to us. Classified and all that.” Sherlock explained.

“Why doesn't he care that I'm here, then?” Molly asked. She had only met Mycroft twice that she could remember. Once he had come into the morgue with Sherlock and the second time was just the day before when he gave Sherlock his newest case.

“I've assured him that you won't be a liability. He reluctantly agreed to let you stay around for his briefings. Mycroft finds it hard to trust, he has issues from childhood.” Sherlock answered in a mocking way, as if he knew that his brother was right outside the door and walking in as the words passed his lips. Mycroft only gave Sherlock an unamused look and then got straight to business.

“Before you ask,” Sherlock started, not even looking toward his brother. “the photographs are completely safe.”

“In the hands of a fugitive sex worker.” Mycroft said, a firm tone of sarcasm in his voice.

“She's not interested in blackmail. She wants...protection for some reason. I take it you've stood down the police investigation into the shooting at her home?”

“How can we do anything while she has the photographs? Our hands are tied.” Mycroft said, only noticing the glaringly obvious pun after he had said it.

“She'd applaud your choice of words.” Sherlock answered, jumping on any opportunity to make his older brother look like an idiot. “You see how this works: that camera phone is her 'get out of jail free card'. You have to leave her alone. Treat her like royalty.”

“Although, not the way she treats royalty.” John said with a smirk and Molly giggled a bit in her chair, earning a chastising look from Mycroft.

“Did you know others were after her as well, Mycroft? Before you sent John and me in there” Sherlock asked, waiting for his brother's reply. Mycroft simply shrugged and waited for whatever else Sherlock had to say. “CIA-trained killers, at an excellent guess.”

“Yeah, thanks for that.” John added.

“The fact of the matter is, there's nothing you can do and nothing she _will_ do, as far as I can see.” Sherlock completed his thoughts and picked up the newspaper that John had put down when Mycroft had entered the room.

“I can put maximum surveillance on her.” Mycroft said, as if to prove his younger brother wrong.

“Why bother? You can follow her on twitter. I believe her user name is 'The Whip Hand'.” Sherlock grinned that Cheshire cat grin that he used when he was being clever and that earned a snort from John.

“Yes. Most amusing.” Mycroft deadpanned his reply. His mobile rang then and he took it out of his pocket to look at it. “Excuse me a moment.”

“So, who were those texts from?” John asked as Mycroft walked out into the stairwell. The anticipation had been killing both he and Molly ever since the first sound went off. Molly was scared to death they would be from that Adler woman.

“There's no name, I don't have the number saved.” Sherlock said, trying to brush off the subject.

“But I bet you know from the content of the messages.” John prodded on.

“There are things in the messages that lead me to believe that the person on the other end of these texts might be Irene Adler.” Sherlock seemed to try and make his sentence longer just to prolong him telling the truth about the text messages. However, that didn't spare Molly any of the feelings that flooded her when that name left Sherlock's lips. Her heart sank at the realization that what she feared was true.

“You haven't been answering them, though.” Molly said as more of a statement than a question, but Sherlock answered anyway.

“No.” He said. A simple, one word answer that didn't make Molly feel any better.

“Why not?”

“Because I don't need to reply to her and I know that it would make you upset.”

“Sherlock...” Molly started, but stopped her complaining when Mycroft began to come back into the room.

“Bond air is go, that's decided. Check with the Coventry lot. Talk later.” He mumbled as he passed through the thresh hold and then stuffed his mobile back into his pocket.

“What else does she have?” Sherlock asked his brother, going back to the topic of Irene Adler, as if Molly hadn't already heard enough about her. Mycroft gave his brother an inquisitive look. “Irene Adler. The Americans wouldn't be interested in her for a couple of compromising photographs. There's more. _Much_ more. Something big is coming, isn't it?”

“Irene Adler is no longer any concern of yours. From now on you will stay out of this.” Mycroft said sternly. Molly breathed a heavy sigh of relief that she hoped Sherlock hadn't heard.

“Oh, will I?” Sherlock said with a mischievous tone.

“Yes, Sherlock, you will. For my sake, and the sake of your...whatever it is that you call Miss Hooper.” Mycroft said, waving a hand toward Molly as he spoke of her. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a long and arduous apology to make to an old friend.”

“Do give her my love.” Sherlock said, picking up his violin that had been sitting in the open case beside his chair and playing “God Save the Queen” as his brother walked down the stairs. He ceased his playing when he was sure that Mycroft was out of earshot, gingerly placing the instrument and bow back in the case and closing the top.

“Are you going to do as your brother asked?” Molly asked, looking up at Sherlock from her seat.

“You would like me to, wouldn't you?” Sherlock answered her question with one of his own.

“I don't mean to butt in,” John started, pushing himself to his feet and taking up his cane. “but I think Mycroft is right this time. We should probably stay out of it for now. All he wanted us to do was get the photos, and now Irene Adler's apparently gone a-wall anyway. How would we even find her?”

“There's something more to this case, John, I can feel it. Why would I give up now when there's so much more to be learned?”

“Possibly for the sanity of your girlfriend, mate.”

“Ugh, that infernal word.” Sherlock spat and ruffled his hands through his hair as if to brush the very sound of it off of him. “Molly, I know that you don't feel comfortable with me investigating this case but, as I've told you, I'm not interested in her romantically. I'm interested in what she's hiding. I need to solve this case.”

“It sounds like you might get in the way if you try.” Molly said, grasping at anything that might get Sherlock off the scent of Irene Adler.

“I live to be the bane of my brother's existence. The more in the way of his activities I am, the better.”

“It sounds like we can't stop you.” John added, feeling a bit defeated.

“John, you know how cases make me feel. The only reason I continue to be a consulting detective is because I know that if I don't, I'll fall back into my drug habit. These cases give me the high that I'm missing without...” Sherlock stopped, he didn't want to elaborate, at least not in this way. “I just can't give it up. Not when I'm so close to finding out something so big.

“It's okay, if you feel that way about it just keep doing what you're doing. Just make sure that Mycroft doesn't find out. I know he's your brother, but I'm not so sure he wouldn't hurt you.” Molly said in a softer tone, submitting to what Sherlock wanted. She had the feeling there would be a lot of that in their relationship.

“Don't be ridiculous, Molly. Mycroft would never do anything to harm me. I'll figure this out before he even knows I'm on the case.”

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

Things had settled down in 221B after Sherlock had agreed to discreetly continue investigating Irene Adler. The Woman had disappeared from England, not even Mycroft could find her, but the texts kept coming in on Sherlock's mobile every so often. Every time Molly heard that ridiculous moan coming from Sherlock's pocket, she wondered why he hadn't changed the tone yet, if only for her benefit. However, as the seasons changed, the texts started coming in less and less until they had stopped entirely. Sherlock seemed a bit put off, but didn't voice any concerns to John or Molly.

Christmas had come and Molly was excited that Sherlock had agreed to let her have a small get together in their flat. Upon their return to England after being hunted in Scotland, Sherlock had convinced Molly to get rid of her old flat and move all of her belongings into 221B. Toby had made himself perfectly comfortable here, after all, and Molly didn't want to move him again. The cast on her ankle had been removed and everything was back to normal. Well, as normal as a life could be when Sherlock Holmes was involved.

Molly buzzed around the small flat as she prepared platters of cheese and crackers as Sherlock stared at the set of antlers that had been placed on the skull that hung on the wall of the sitting room.

“Do we really need these here?” He asked, sounding a bit disgusted by the whole business. It hadn't been easy to convince him to have a party for Christmas but, with John's help, Molly had won the argument.

“It's either there or on your head.” Molly answered with a smile as she stretched to get the wine glasses off of the top shelf of the cupboard. Sherlock rolled his eyes, then walked over, noticing that she was having a hard time reaching, and stood behind her to grab a wine glass and then placed a gentle kiss on her neck. She smiled and blushed a bit before swatting him playfully away with a dish towel.

“We have company coming.” Molly chastised as she realized what was on his mind. He breathed a heavy sigh and got the rest of the glasses down and placed them on the counter. Things had become rather domestic in the little flat that they called their home. Sherlock had assumed roles that Molly never would have imagined he was capable of. After dinners cooked in the kitchen he would help to wash the dishes, he would sometimes help Molly cook. He had even agreed to keep a separate fridge for all the specimens he used for his experiments. She never thought it would be possible, but she was very happily living, and having a relationship with, Sherlock Holmes.

They hadn't even heard from James Moriarty since they got back to England, which was still a bit shocking to everyone that had been involved. However, Sally Donovan was still missing. The day they had been left in the woods, Sally opted to stay back, which everyone assumed would mean her death, but a body had never been found. Sherlock didn't believe that she'd been killed, which left Molly thinking the worst for her. What if Jim had taken her back to his home to assume the role that Molly was vacating? Sherlock had sent officers from Scotland Yard looking for the woman, and even managed to, somehow, get a search warrant for Jim's residence, but Sally wasn't found. After that, the case went cold. Sherlock and Sally had never gotten on, but he seemed determined to bring her home safely.

“Will you play some carols on your violin?” Molly asked, trying to push away the dark thoughts that had suddenly plagued her and replace them with cheerful ones. Sherlock looked at her thoughtfully and then retrieved his violin and began to play. He had never been one for religion, so he usually didn't like to play Christmas carols, but he would make an exception for her. He had only just finished a beautiful rendition of “Silent Night” when John came into the sitting room with bags of groceries.

“Someone's in the Christmas spirit.” He said, half joking, a huge smile on his face.

“Molly wanted me to play.” Sherlock answered, lowering his violin and gesturing toward Molly with the bow.

“Thank you for picking up these last few things, John. I've been so busy getting ready I've barely had time to think.” Molly said gratefully, digging through the bags that John had just sat on the counter.

“It's really no trouble. Can I help with anything else?” He asked.

“Thank you, but I think everything is ready now. I just need to put up a few last minute decorations and we'll be ready for our guests.”

“Which include Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade, so I'm not sure why we've gone to all this trouble.” Sherlock remarked, now sitting in his chair and plucking idly at the strings of his violin.

“Sherlock, I just want to have a nice get together with all of our friends, and you will not spoil it! Sit there and behave yourself while I got and change.” Molly demanded. Even when she was scolding him, she could never be cross with Sherlock for long. Before her last word even left her mouth a smile began to curl her lips. She walked back into the bedroom she shared with Sherlock and closed the door so she could make herself presentable for the party before her smile lessened the effect of what she had been saying.

 

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Molly had just retired to the bedroom, giving Sherlock plenty of time to further complain about the festivities that were planned for the evening. He was happy to do anything for Molly, but parties just weren't his thing. Sherlock much preferred a nice, quiet evening with Molly, and even John (most of the time), but adding others to the mix just seemed like a disaster that was waiting to happen.

“I hope you don't mind, I've invited a friend.” John said, which made Sherlock loath the occasion even more.

“Oh, for God's sake, let's just invite the whole world to our flat!” Sherlock remarked dramatically.

“One more person isn't going to kill you, Sherlock. Plus, I want her to meet my friends.”

“Her?” Sherlock narrowed his eyes at john.

“Yes. I've been seeing someone, we met a few weeks ago. I thought it was the right time for her to meet the people that I spend the majority of my life with.”

“So, it's serious then?”

“Well...I wouldn't call it...I mean I do enjoy her company but...” John stammered, and that was all the evidence that Sherlock needed to confirm that he needn't bother making a good impression on whatever woman John had decided to parade around at the party.

“Honestly, why do we need to do this?” Sherlock asked exasperated as he picked up the bow to his violin and swung it around.

“Because people usually like company on Christmas Eve.” John answered.

“Can't we just be happy with each other's company? The only people I really even _like_ live in the same flat with me.”

“That can't be true. I know you enjoy Lestrade's company, even if you don't like to admit it.”

“George is merely an acquaintance, as far as I'm concerned.”

“Well, that's evident by the fact that you still haven't bothered to learn his bloody name. It's Greg, Sherlock. Gregory Lestrade.”  
“What difference does it make? I only ever call him Lestrade anyway.” Sherlock pouted, waving his bow around in the air to punctuate his point.

“Clearly it makes no difference to you. Honestly, we went through hell with that man and you don't consider him to be a close friend?”

“Just because you share a traumatic experience with another person doesn't make them your friend. I'm sure you hardly keep in contact with all the men you fought with in Afghanistan.” Sherlock said, and he knew he had gone too far with that statement just by the look on John's face. “I...I'm sorry, John. I just get...anxious in anticipation of an event like this.”

“Yeah, I know. But really, Sherlock, try and behave. If only for Molly's sake.” John said somberly, as if he was trying to shake the gravity of what Sherlock had just pointed out.

“Of course I'll behave. I always behave. Sometimes it seems like the whole world thinks I'm still a child.” Sherlock answered and John gave him a look that seemed to confirm that statement. The conversation had only just ended when Sherlock heard a peculiar noise in the hallway coming from his bedroom. He peered through the kitchen to see Molly striding down the hall in a tight black dress and red heels that she seemed to have a bit of trouble keeping her balance on. Her hair hung loosely around her shoulders and she had applied a bright shade of red to her lips that she knew he adored on her. He blinked rapidly a few times, as if to clear his vision, and his mouth gaped open slightly at the sight of her.

“Careful mate, your jaw's about to hit the floor.” John joked as he caught sight of Molly and then looked back to Sherlock to see his current state. Sherlock promptly snapped his mouth shut and rose to his feet to greet Molly.

“Well, how do I look?” She asked, smiling at both of the men that stood in front of her. Sherlock was still speechless so, as John normally did, he answered for both of them.

“Beautiful, Molly. You clean up nicely.” He joked.

“Should I...open the wine?” Sherlock asked, still not really sure of what to say to Molly.

“If you like. Greg and Mrs. Hudson should be arriving any moment.” Molly answered. Once Sherlock had strode past her and into the kitchen, John grabbed her by the arm and pulled her close.

“You have no reason to worry about Irene Adler, Molly. It seems you've had more of an effect on him fully clothed than she ever had.” John said in a low tone, making sure that Sherlock couldn't hear. Molly smiled and blushed a bit, then patted the hand that John grasped her arm with as if to say thank you.

“Hoo-hoo!” The familiar tut of Mrs. Hudson rang through the flat as she entered through the sitting room carrying a bag full of gifts and a pumpkin pie that she'd made, a wide smile on her face.

“Hello, Mrs. Hudson, come in!” Molly said, rushing over to greet her and taking the pie into the kitchen where Sherlock was pouring the wine. “Make that four glasses now.”

“You all look very nice. I see you've talked them into decorating a bit. A woman's touch was just what this old place needed.”

“It was a struggle, I assure you.” Molly answered, gesturing toward Sherlock as she spoke.

“I've brought gifts for all of you. Nothing much, just a little something. It wouldn't be Christmas without gifts.”

“Oh, you didn't need to get me anything, Mrs. Hudson.” John said as he was handed a box wrapped in shining silver paper with a green bow adorning the top.

“It's nothing dear, please, I insist. You boys work so hard and put yourselves in harm's way so often. After all the trouble you found yourselves in a few months ago, I felt like you needed a bit of something. Sherlock, this one's for you.” She pulled out a box of a similar size to John's wrapped in green with a red bow and sat it on the arm of his chair. “And this one's for Molly.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. You really didn't need to.” Molly said with a smile as she took her gift. It was wrapped in deep blue paper with a silver ribbon wrapped around and tied in a bow on the top. Mrs. Hudson had gone to obvious pains to wrap it nicely.

“I don't think anyone else went to the trouble to buy gifts. This was just supposed to be a fun night with our friends.” John said as he admired the box that had just been handed to him.

“Actually, I did buy a gift for you, and Sherlock.” Molly answered, sitting down the box Mrs. Hudson had given her and walking back into the room that she shared with Sherlock.

“No you didn't.” Sherlock chimed in. “I didn't find anything.”

“That's because you don't know where to look.” Molly's voice came from the bedroom. She walked back out with two small boxes in her hands. One was wrapped in red paper that matched her lipstick, a small note card attached to the front that read:

 

_Dearest Sherlock_

_Love, Molly xxx_

 

in beautiful handwriting. The other was wrapped in green paper with a similar note that had John's name scrawled across it, not with the same care as Sherlock's had been written.

“How long have you had this?” Sherlock asked, plucking the package from Molly's hands as she walked past to give John his gift.

“A good long while. I'm surprised you didn't find it.”

“Molly, you didn't need to get me a gift.” John said, steering the conversation away from how hurt Sherlock's pride was that he hadn't been able to deduce the fact that Molly got him a gift for Christmas. That man was the brightest person that John had ever met, but he never seemed to see the blatantly obvious.

“After all the trouble you went through to help Sherlock find me when Jim took me away,” Molly paused, then smiled as if to reassure herself. “yes, I did need to get you something.”

“Well, best get this over with before Greg gets here. Don't want him to feel left out. Go on, open them.” Mrs. Hudson urged. Sherlock was the first to tear into his gift, opening the one that Molly had given him first.

“You spent a great amount of time in wrapping this, Molly, that seems silly when you know the paper will just be torn apart upon opening it. The paper matches your lipstick, too. Was that something you meant to do?” Sherlock asked.

“You can't take one day off, can you? You don't need to deduce every little thing, Sherlock. Just open it up.” Molly chastised. Sometimes she really hated how sharp he was. He got the paper off to reveal a leather box that hinged open on one side. Sherlock carefully opened it to find a shining silver fob watch with the letters FMH engraved in the front.

“What's this?” Sherlock asked in confusion. For once, something had stumped him.

“It used to belong to my father, before he passed away. He told me...well...I just thought you would appreciate it. That's all.” Molly stammered. In truth, her father had told her to give that watch to her future husband. Molly couldn't see herself with anyone else in the whole world, and while marriage certainly didn't seem to be in their near future, she knew that she would be with Sherlock for the rest of her life. Molly glanced at the other people in the room quickly and saw that Mrs. Hudson was on the verge of tears. John just stood taking in the situation and Sherlock was, yet again, speechless.

“Don't you want to keep it for...sentiment?” Sherlock asked, trying to find the right words.

“I'll always remember my father, even without that silly watch. I know he would want you to have it.”

“I've never met the man.”

“I just know. Now, open the other one, from Mrs. Hudson.” Molly urged, feeling tears welling in her own eyes and pushing them back by changing the subject. Sherlock stared at Molly for a moment, trying desperately to figure out what he had missed, before moving on to the next gift.

“I'm afraid it doesn't hold a candle to what Molly gave you. Mine is more of a joke, really.” Mrs. Hudson said as Sherlock hurriedly opened the gift that she had given him. He rolled his head back and sighed as he opened the box to reveal a deerstalker. John and Molly couldn't contain their laughter as Sherlock pulled the hat from the box.

“I suppose you all think this is funny.” Sherlock said humorlessly.

“You're the one that picked that hat. You could have taken any one off of that coat rack, but you picked that one and the media got a picture. You've made your bed, now lie in it.” John laughed.

“Put it on.” Molly urged, smiling widely. Sherlock looked at her with the most serious expression she had ever seen and uttered one simple word.

“No.”

John was next to open his gifts. The one from Mrs. Hudson was a very nice wrist watch that looked quite expensive, although Sherlock would go on to tell everyone that it had been bought in a thrift store. The gift that Molly had gotten him was a very nice tie pin and cuff links that came as a set. He thanked her and then Molly began to open her gift. She carefully untied the bow and ripped the paper away to reveal a box very similar to the one she had given Sherlock. Upon hinging the box open, she found a beautiful pearl necklace and matching earrings that couldn't have been anything but authentic and antique.

“Oh, Mrs. Hudson, these are absolutely beautiful.” Molly said, a bit lost for words as she gazed at the jewelery. “You've spent far too much money on me.”

“No dear, they were mine. I want you to have them. They just don't look the same on my old wrinkled neck. Those pearls deserve a beautiful young woman.” Mrs. Hudson answered with a smile. It was all Molly could do not to cry right then and there. Instead, she went over and embraced Mrs. Hudson for a moment, murmuring her thanks again as Lestrade came up the stairs and to the door.

“Hello everyone.” Lestrade said as he smiled his greetings. Everyone in the room greeted him in return.

“Oh, everyone's saying hello, how wonderful!” Sherlock said in mock joy. Molly shot a disappointed look his way, though, and that seemed to stop him.

“Would anyone like wine? Sherlock went to all the trouble of pouring a glass for everyone.” Molly said with a hint of sarcasm. Everyone accepted, including Sherlock, and then the real fun began. Molly had never known Sherlock to drink but, given the new development of his relationship with her, she supposed there was a first time for everything. They had only been talking for a few moments before there was another arrival, this time of the female persuasion. A tall, slender woman with dark brown hair and doe-eyes appeared in the doorway. She quickly shed her coat and gloves, hanging them on the hook by the door, to reveal a tight red dress that rivaled Molly's. John quickly rose to greet her.

“Everyone, this is Jeanette.” John introduced his new lady friend to the room and they all smiled and nodded their hellos. Jeanette took a seat in John's chair and he stood beside her and everyone started talking amongst themselves.

“So, Greg, I thought you were going to Dorset for Christmas?” Molly asked, trying to make polite conversation.

“No, that's first thing in the morning. Me and the wife are getting back together. It's all sorted.” He replied with a grin.

“Nope.” Sherlock said, popping the 'P' in the word in the obnoxious manner he had.

“Shut up, Sherlock.” John warned, shooting a dangerous glance in Sherlock's direction.

“I was only making an observation.”

“Yeah, well, keep your observations to yourself.”

After that little episode, everyone seemed to be having a good time. The whole room was downing drinks and the party had really gotten going when something unexpected happened. Sherlock and Molly had been sitting together on the sofa that sat against the wall in the sitting room when it happened. Sherlock's mobile went off, and the orgasmic moan that signaled a text from Irene Adler sounded loudly throughout the room. Everyone turned to look at the pair of them, snuggled together on the sofa, and as Molly realized what they thought she turned a dark shade of crimson.

“No! That wasn't...I didn't...” Molly stammered, trying to find some way to explain what had happened without incriminating herself.

“No, it was me.” Sherlock said, saving her as always.

“My God, really?” Lestrade asked in confusion, almost spilling the contents of his wine glass.

“My phone.” Sherlock elaborated as he pulled his mobile from his pocket and looked at the screen. The message only read 'mantlepiece' and he walked swiftly to it, discovering a small red box tied with a green string. Molly looked at him confused, wondering what exactly was going on.

“Fifty-seven.” John said as Sherlock examined the box.

“Sorry, what?” Sherlock asked.

“Fifty-seven of those texts, at least the ones I've heard.”

“Thrilling that you've been counting. Excuse me.” Sherlock said, and made for his bedroom.

“Sherlock, what's going on?” Molly asked, rising to follow him.

“I said excuse me.” Sherlock swept out of the room without a second thought as to how Molly would feel about what just happened. After so long not hearing a single thing from The Woman, she somehow managed to get a package into the flat without anyone's knowledge. Oh, she was good, and he couldn't wait to tear her down. He closed the bedroom door swiftly and tore open the box, eager to see what it held. He was shocked to find Irene Adler's mobile inside. He immediately made to examine the data on the phone but was stopped by a screen that said 'I am locked' with four spaces for characters to be entered.

“So we're playing another game now, are we?” Sherlock asked himself as he looked at the phone. It only dawned on him after his excitement subsided that the gift he had just received might not bode well for Miss Adler. Sherlock took his own mobile out of his pocket and dialed Mycroft, he would need to know what was discovered about the case immediately. It only rang a few times before his brother answered.

“Oh dear _lord_ , we're not going to have Christmas phone calls now, are we? Have they passed a new law?” Mycroft answered, pure loathing in his voice.

“I think you're going to find Irene Adler tonight.” Sherlock said as Molly opened the door to the bedroom to reveal herself and John standing just outside.

“We already know where she is. As you were kind enough to point out, it hardly matters.”

“No, I mean you're going to find her dead.” Sherlock said, then hung up without waiting for a reply. Molly and John just stood in the doorway staring, not knowing what to say or do. Finally, John spoke up.

“Are you okay?” He asked, which only bothered Molly slightly.

“Yes.” Was his only reply before he grabbed the door and swung it shut in their faces. Molly understood that this case had been something that Sherlock couldn't stop thinking about, but it still hurt her that he couldn't be bothered to offer some insight as to what he was thinking. She and John strode back into the sitting room where all of their guests waited with baited breath to find out what was happening.

“What was all that, then?” Lestrade asked as the pair of them stood in the doorway from the kitchen, the same shocked expressions on their faces.

“It's about a case.” John said vaguely, not wanting to accidentally give too much away.

“Oh dear, we all know how he gets when something like that doesn't go his way. Molly, darling, don't take it personally. He's just moody when he doesn't get his way, that's all.” Mrs. Hudson said, walking over to place a hand reassuringly on Molly's shoulder.

“I know, it's silly, I just don't like seeing him that way.” Molly answered, her eyes downcast. Just then, Molly's mobile started buzzing on the table in the kitchen and she walked over to answer. The call was from Mike Stamford, and she was afraid she already knew what he wanted from her.

“Hello Mike, Happy Christmas.” Molly answered her phone as cheerfully as she could.

“Hello Molly, Happy Christmas to you, too. Listen, I'm sorry to call you in tonight, but it seems we've just had a body come in that needs to be identified. Can you pop by just for a while, until everything's been sorted?” Mike wasted no time getting right to business.

“Of course. Give me a moment to get changed and I'll be right in.” Molly said, then muttered a goodbye into the phone and hung up. “I'm sorry everyone, but it seems duty calls.”

“That's just as well, dear. I think Sherlock's ruined the mood for everyone. We'll leave you to it.” Mrs. Hudson replied, then gathered up her things and walked back to her flat.

“It was a lovely party, Molly.” Lestrade said, giving her a polite hug and then gathering up his coat and putting it on. “I'll be seeing you.”

“Should I go?” Jeanette asked from her seat in John's chair, looking up at him.

“You don't have to. I'll be staying here. I'm sure Sherlock will be gone soon, as well.” John replied, smiling at Jeanette mischievously. Molly walked back down the hall and to the door of the bedroom, then knocked lightly, turning to doorknob as she did so.

“Sherlock?” She murmured as she made her way slowly into the room. He had been pacing at the foot of the bed when she entered, but ceased after she closed the door. “I just need to get changed. I've been called in to work.”

“I thought you might be. You don't need to go in, Molly. I'm sure there's someone else that could do it.” Sherlock replied, trying to take her feelings into account in this mess.

“It's fine. I'm sure everyone else is busy. I don't mind, really.” She replied, going into the wardrobe that now held her clothes, as well as Sherlock's, and picking out a rather ghastly Christmas sweater and a pair of khakis. “We could ride there together, if you want. I'm sure you'll be there anyway.”

“I need to think. I'll take my own cab and be there shortly. You go on ahead of me.” Sherlock said, going back to his pacing. Once Molly had changed her clothes she grabbed her handbag and left the room, not saying another word to Sherlock before doing so. She grabbed her coat out of the sitting room and said a brief goodbye to John and Jeanette before leaving the flat and hailing a cab to the curb.

Once she had arrived at Bart's she went immediately to the morgue to see the new arrival. She knew that Sherlock thought there was a great possibility of it being Irene Adler, but it was hard for Molly to say if that was the case. The face of the victim was severely beaten, and it was hard to make out any definite features. The proportions of the face seemed to be accurate, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. She covered the body, uncomfortable analyzing it the way that she had been, and only had to wait a few more minutes before Sherlock burst through the doors of the morgue, Mycroft following on his heels. She gave a sad smile to Sherlock but he didn't react, his eyes were fixed on the autopsy table.

“The face is a bit...sort of...bashed up, so it might be a bit difficult.” She said before she peeled the sheet back and let it rest at the top of the deceased woman's chest.

“That's her, isn't it?” Mycroft asked, completely devoid of emotion.

“Show me the rest of her.” Sherlock said in the same tone as his brother, and Molly managed to pull the sheet back the rest of the way with only a small amount of emotional difficulty. Sherlock raked his gaze over the dead woman for a moment and then looked to his brother. “That's her.”

“Thank you, Miss Hooper.” Mycroft said with a sad smile as Sherlock swept back out of the morgue and into the hallway. Molly was left standing with The Woman's dead body, and it took everything she had not to burst into tears right there in the morgue.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Sherlock stood in the hallway outside of the morgue, staring blankly out the window in front of him when Mycroft walked up beside him holding a cigarette in between his thumb and index finger. Sherlock eyed him suspiciously before Mycroft spoke.

“Just the one.” He said, urging his brother to take the cigarette.

“Why?” Sherlock asked. He had promised Molly that he would quit on the grounds that she didn't like to kiss him when he smelled like an ashtray, but he thought that just one would be fine.

“Merry Christmas.”

Sherlock took the cigarette with only a bit more hesitation and let his brother light it for him, then took a long draw, savoring the taste of tobacco and the buzz that the nicotine gave him. It had been ages since he'd had a cigarette. Sometimes it was very hard not smoking.

“Smoking indoors, isn't there one of those...one of those law things?” Sherlock asked, taking another puff.

“We're in a morgue. There's only so much damage you can do.” Mycroft smiled tightly and then looked at his brother. “How did you know she was dead?”

“She had an item in her possession, one she said her life depended on. She chose to give it up.” He answered, taking another deep drag.

“Where is this item now?” Mycroft asked, but Sherlock ignored his question and, instead, turned his attention to a family that stood sobbing in front of a pathologist down the hall.

“Look at them, they all care so much. Do you ever wonder if there's something wrong with us?” He asked, looking back to his brother.

“All lives end. All hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock.” Mycroft's words seemed to be directed toward him, and he knew exactly why. Mycroft never agreed with romantic relationships, and Sherlock's relationship with Molly was certainly no exception. Sherlock snorted a laugh and then took another long drag off of the cigarette, exhaling the smoke against the window in front of him.

“This is _low_ tar.” He said, referencing the cigarette and completely ignoring his brother's jab.

“Well, you barely knew her.” Mycroft answered. Sherlock snickered again and then ashed his cigarette in the general direction of his brother.

“Merry Christmas, Mycroft.” He said as he turned and strode down the hall toward the exit.

“And a happy new year.”

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've really been hard at work for the past few days on this story, and I think I really like where it's going. I hope everyone has been enjoying it so far!

“He's on his way.” Mycroft's voice rang through the speakers of John's mobile, and the whole flat as he'd put it on speaker phone, to warn Molly and Mrs. Hudson that Sherlock would be returning soon. Molly had beaten him back to the flat, quite on purpose, and was eagerly waiting for him to return. She knew he was upset, and she was upset as well, and wanted a chance to talk to him about what had happened that night. “Have you found anything?”

“No. Did he take the cigarette?” John asked, still searching around the sitting room as he spoke to Mycroft.

“Yes.”

“Shit.” John turned to look at Molly, who was searching through the kitchen. “He's coming. Ten minutes.”

“There's nothing in here.” Molly said, then Mrs. Hudson popped her head out of the bathroom.

“Nothing in here, either.” She said, walking back in to join the others.

“Looks like he's clean. We've tried all the usual places. Are you sure tonight's a danger night?” John asked, taking his phone off of speaker and pressing it to his ear. Molly didn't like that, but she knew he would tell her regardless.

“No, but then I never am. You have to stay with him, John.” Mycroft said.

“I've got plans.”

“No.” Mycroft said in that tone that he used when he was very serious about something, then he hung up. John rolled his eyes and then looked back at Jeanette who was sitting on the sofa, and went over to sit with her.

“I am _really_ sorry.” John started.

“You know, my friends are so wrong about you.” Jeanette said. Molly felt guilty for being in the room, she knew what was coming.

“Sorry?” John asked, looking a bit confused.

“You're a great boyfriend.”

“Oh, that's good. I mean, I always thought I was great.” John said with a tone of sarcasm.

“And Sherlock Holmes is a very lucky man.” Jeanette's voice had gone from pleasant to absolute anger in an instant.

“Jeanette, please.” John started to beg, but Jeanette pushed on.

“No, I mean it. It's heart-warming, really. You'll do anything for him, and he can't even tell your girlfriends apart!” Her voice was raised as she pushed herself off of the sofa and began hurriedly putting on her coat. John jumped up to follow her to the door, trying desperately to save the relationship.

“No, I'll do anything for _you_. Just tell me what it is I'm not doing.”

“Don't make me compete with Sherlock Holmes!” Molly could tell that Jeanette was on her way out, of both the flat and John's life, and wished that she were anywhere but where she was standing at the moment.

“I'll do anything! I'll...I'll walk your dog for you.” John was really reaching now.

“I don't have a dog!” Jeanette yelled.

“No, because that was...the last one. Okay.” John said, ashamed of himself for forgetting that detail.

“Jesus!” Jeanette exclaimed turning to walk down the stairs.

“I'll call you.” John called after her.

“No!”

“Okay...” John said, more to himself than anyone else. He looked round at Molly, who was trying her best not to look like she was listening.

“That really wasn't very good, was it?” Asked Mrs. Hudson. John only looked at her and scrubbed his face with his hands.

“I'm sorry, John.” Molly said, trying to make him feel better about the ordeal.

“No, it's fine. That was bound to happen eventually, I suppose.” He said, then sat down in his chair. Molly put the kettle on and sat in Sherlock's chair, opposite John, to chat until Sherlock arrived.

“You really shouldn't make them compete with him, you know.” She said with a bit of a grimace, as if she were expecting backlash from John at her words.

“I know. He's lucky to have you, Molly. You understand what our lives are like. Not many women are accepting of the fact that we run around at all hours of the night trying to stop murderers and villains.”

“Honestly, I think that's why I like him in the first place. There's just something about knowing that he wants to make the world a better place and is willing to do anything in his power to make that happen. Besides, I'd rather him go running around London chasing after criminals than have him holed up somewhere doing drugs.” Molly said, and the last word escaped her lips just as Sherlock swept in the door. Molly felt her cheeks burning with embarrassment, she knew he'd heard what she said.

“Oh, hi.” John said, as if nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred. Sherlock just stood in the doorway, scanning the room. His eyes narrowed on John. “You okay?”

“I hope you didn't mess up my sock index this time.” He said, then strode through the kitchen, past Mrs. Hudson and down the hall to the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

“Should I go to talk to him?” Molly asked, looking from John to Mrs. Hudson.

“It might be a good idea. He's upset about something. Whether that's the loss of a case or...something else...I think he would benefit from your company.” John said. Molly pushed herself to her feet and John went to tend to the tea that Molly had started, giving her a small nod and a smile as she made her way down the short hallway and to the room she shared with Sherlock. She didn't bother knocking, she just opened the door and walked in to find Sherlock already changed into his pajamas and dressing gown, laying on the bed and staring at the ceiling.

“Would you like to talk about it?” She asked, sitting gently on the bed beside him.

“No.” He said, then looked at Molly and saw the pained expression on her face. “I hurt you today.”

“No, it's fine. I just...you said you didn't look at her, when you were at her house, but you identified her by...not her face.” Molly said about as ungracefully as she could. She shook her head at herself for her choice of words.

“How else was I supposed to identify her?”

“That's not the point.” Molly said, getting up to pace the room. It was a habit she had picked up from him, but she only did it when she was severely troubled by something, and he knew it. “I feel like I've been lied to.”

“I only needed to see her measurements. That was the only way we could be certain that the body laying on that slab was her.”

“No one else could have known her measurements?” Molly snapped.

“I'm sorry, Molly. I didn't realize that this would upset you this much.”

“It only upsets me because...on some level...I know you were attracted to her. You wouldn't have known her measurements otherwise. It just hurts that you weren't honest with me.” She said, stopping to look him dead in the eyes as she fought back the tears that were building in her own. “I don't know if I can keep doing this.”

“What...what are you saying?” Sherlock stammered. He had expected her to be a bit angry, but he never imagined what would happen next.

“I think that we should take a bit of time off. Until you've decided what you want.” Molly said, her voice shaking as her tears began to fall. She couldn't really believe that she was doing this, but if he couldn't commit himself fully to her, she didn't want to go on doing what they were doing.

“Molly...”

“I'm going to stay with my brother. When you've decided...just...send a text or something.” Molly said, and before Sherlock could say anything else to her she left the room, closing the door behind her, and went into the sitting room. She made it as far as John's chair before Sherlock's door swung open and he walked quickly into the room. Molly had already put on her coat and scarf, and John was about to ask what was happening when Sherlock came in. Thankfully, Mrs. Hudson had already returned to her own flat, she didn't need to watch another relationship crumble in front of her eyes.

“I don't want you to go.” He said, trying not to let emotion show in front of John. His voice gave him away, though, and cracked on the last word, as if he were trying to hold back tears.

“I need to. I can't be with you until you've gotten over whatever you had with that woman, Sherlock. When you've done that, you give me a ring.”

“Molly?” John started, but she only shook her head and opened the door, took a deep breath, and walked out of 221B to make her way toward her brother's house.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“What exactly just happened?” John asked as he and Sherlock stood in the sitting room gawking at the open door that lead into the stairwell.

“I think she left.” Sherlock said in a trembling voice, then cleared his throat and straightened his posture as if he had just shaken every emotion from his body.

“What did you say to her?”

“She was upset with me because of how I had to identify Miss Adler's body.”

“And that was?”

“By her measurements.”

“Bloody hell, Sherlock. How did you think that would be a good idea?” John asked, raking his hands through his hair.

“I didn't...I mean, I only did what was necessary.” Sherlock stuttered, as if he was trying to rationalize what he'd done over again.

“Are you all right?”

“No.” Sherlock slunk to his chair and collapsed in it, resting his head in his hands so that John couldn't see his face. Sherlock wasn't really one to cry, but he felt that it might be completely possible for him to do so in this instance. He felt a nudge against his leg and looked down to see Toby brushing against him. Molly had been so upset that she'd walked right out of the flat without him. He'd really made a mess of things this time. “How do I fix this?”

“I can try and talk to her tomorrow. See if I can't sort things out.” John offered.

“And if you can't?”

“Then you'll have to come up with something really big to get out of the hole you've dug for yourself this time, mate.”

“I remember now why I never had relationships before.” Sherlock said, sitting back in his chair and allowing Toby to jump onto his lap.

“Why's that?” John asked curiously.

“Because women are bloody difficult.”

“Don't I know it.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Molly knew that her brother Fred, named for her father, would still be awake even this late. She'd called in advance, however, just in case. He was happy to have her, and he didn't live that far from her old flat. She hadn't explained anything over the phone, feeling that it would be better to do that in person, and had promised him that everything was fine. When she arrived at his home, though, it was apparent to him that she hadn't told the truth.

“Molly, what's wrong?” He asked, ushering her inside and closing the door behind her. He hadn't changed a bit since she'd seen him last, which had been quite a while. He was still the tall, scruffy, chestnut haired scoundrel she had always loved. Fred was her only brother, and they shared a special bond, especially since they were so close in age growing up. He had been the one that had supported her the most when she told her family she wanted to be a pathologist. Their mother had urged her to do something more 'fitting of a woman', but Fred had been there to pick her up when her mother's words got to her. She smiled through the tears that were still falling from her eyes and embraced him tightly.

“Fred, I've had a breakup.” Molly explained. She had been so caught up in her life since she returned to London that she hadn't had time to even tell him that she'd been in a relationship, so news of a breakup shocked him.

“With whom?” He asked, obviously surprised, but willing to listen to all her problems, as usual. He showed her into his large sitting room, which was decorated with the art that he had poured himself into ever since he graduated secondary school.

“Sherlock Holmes.” Molly replied hesitantly. Surely Fred had heard of him. He'd been the talk of the town because of all the cases he'd solved.

“You were dating Sherlock Holmes? Molly, how did you not think to tell me about this?”

“Well, there was a brief period when my ex-boyfriend kidnapped me and held me hostage, then Sherlock and his friend John came to save me, but they got captured too. Then Jim, that's my ex, took us into the woods and let us go and hunted us while we tried to find civilization. After we made it out of that, I just got so caught up in everything that I didn't think to call.” Molly explained. Her brother just sat there with his mouth hanging open, trying to process everything that she'd just told him.

“Was Sherlock the reason you were in that mess, by any chance?” Fred asked. Molly could never lie to him. Even if she managed to get a fib to pass her lips, he never fell for it. She swallowed hard and then looked right at him.

“Jim kidnapped me to get to Sherlock because he knew that I was in love with him. But that was after I'd broken things off with Jim, and he would have kept harassing me regardless.” Molly spoke quickly, not letting her brother get in a word of protest. She shuddered at the thought of what she was going to say next, but she would have to tell him some time. “Jim was...obsessed. I broke things off with him and he came back and...he did horrible things, Fred.”

“Molly...he didn't...”Fred couldn't bring himself to finish his sentence, but Molly knew what he was thinking. She simply nodded and watched as all the color drained from her brother's face. She watched as he recovered and began to speak again.

“So, what did he do to make you leave? Sherlock, I mean.” He asked, still curious as to why she was so upset now.

“He was working on a case, it involved a woman. A dominatrix. It's really a long story, and one I can't get into without possibly committing treason. The point is that he told me what happened, while omitting a few details, and those details later came back in the worst possible way. I had to break things off, I couldn't stick around knowing that he has feelings for another woman. Although, she is apparently dead now, but you should have seen him when he got the news, Fred, it was like his heart had been torn out of his chest. It seems like that's a feeling that should be reserved for me.”

“Do you love him?” Fred asked, as if he hadn't heard a single word that had come out of her mouth moments before.

“Of course I love him. I've wanted to be with him since the first moment I laid eyes on him, but I can't stay in a relationship with someone who clearly has feelings for someone else.”

“I understand that, Molls,” he said, calling her by her childhood nickname. “but this all seems a bit harsh. I mean, this other woman, she's dead now. How can she possibly impose on your relationship if she isn't even alive to do anything?”

“You don't get it. He lied to me. How am I supposed to trust him again?” Molly raised her voice a bit, but calmed herself when she realized what was happening. She sighed heavily and leaned against her brother's shoulder, she could always find comfort in him.

“Well, you're welcome to stay here as long as you need to, Molly. You'll figure all this out eventually.” He said with a smile, hugging her to his side for a moment.

“It's not for me to decide anymore. I told him to figure out what he wanted, and when he was ready, he can tell me what he's decided on. I'll always run back to him if I let myself, so he's the one that has to figure this out.”

“You know I'll always be on your side, but when he comes round, and I know he will, you need to be open minded about what he has to say.”

“How do you know he'll come here? He doesn't even know where you live.” Molly said in an exasperated tone.

“Sherlock Holmes.” Fred said with a raised eyebrow. “He seems to have a way with mysteries.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

It had taken some convincing, about two months of it to be precise, but John had eventually talked Molly into meeting him at a cafe far enough away from Baker Street to ensure that Sherlock wouldn't be snooping around. In fact, Sherlock had tried to make John wear a wire so he could hear their conversation, but John had refused as to not betray Molly's trust. Sherlock had been upset at his friend for not going along with his plan, but decided that he could probably get all the details of that from him later anyway. Molly hadn't answered any calls from Sherlock or John since she left. She'd texted John once, and only in reply to a message he'd sent to her, but only to tell him that she needed more time to sort out her feelings. He'd respected her privacy, but he'd also promised Sherlock that he would try to get to the bottom of what was happening.

When Molly arrived she was wearing a simple black shirt and a pair of jeans that fit her loosely. Her hair hung down her back in a tight braid and she looked as if she'd been crying all morning. John decided that he wouldn't address that, at least not right away, and smiled at the sight of her.

“Molly, it's nice to see you.” He said, rising from his chair at the table he'd picked out and embracing her in a friendly hug.

“It's nice to see you too, John. How have you been?” She asked, taking a seat at the table as a waitress came over. She ordered a cappuccino and settled into her chair.

“I've been well.” John nodded as he spoke, but Molly could tell that he had something more to say.

“You're here on behalf of Sherlock, I presume.”

“Not entirely. I just wanted to let you know what was happening. Sherlock really isn't in a good way. I know it's probably the last thing you want to hear, but I thought you should know.”

“Is he moping about because of that woman?”

“Molly, he hasn't spoken a single word about Irene Adler since you've been gone. He's writing sad music. He doesn't eat, doesn't sleep. It's like when Moriarty kidnapped you, he spends days sitting in his chair, staring at the ceiling. I haven't heard a word from him in days. The only thing that gives him hope that you might come back is that you left Toby in the flat.”

“I've been meaning to send Fred over to get him...” Molly started, but she could tell that John knew she was lying. In truth, she'd left Toby there so that she would have to go back. She didn't want to be cross with Sherlock forever, but she hadn't yet worked up the courage to go back to Baker Street.

“Can't you at least talk to him? You know he's too stubborn to come to you.”

“That's exactly the point, John. He needs to learn to take a step back from himself and think about others. He really hurt me by not telling me everything about what happened that day.”

“I know I can't change your mind, I just wanted to tell you what was happening, and I wanted to see you. We both miss having you around the flat. It feels like I haven't seen you in ages.”

“I miss you too, John.” Molly replied with a slight smile. Her coffee came then, and she took a long sip, as she thought about what she would say next. “He hasn't started using drugs again, has he?”

“Not to my knowledge, although I'm not sure I would know if he had. He might be a bit more cheerful, if that were the case. All he does is write sad songs on his violin and lay around the flat in his dressing gown. I don't think he's left the flat in the time you've been gone.”

“Could you just tell him...Tell him that I think about him, that I still love him. I don't want him to doubt that. I just...I have to be able to trust him before I can go on living there.” Molly said, casting her eyes downward and fiddling with the handle of her coffee cup.

“I will.” John said with a small smile. “He also wanted me to tell you something. He wanted to make sure you knew that he's been taking good care of Toby. He really has grown fond of that little cat.”

“Thank him for me, will you? And tell him that if he doesn't make a decision before the end of next week, I'll be coming to get Toby.” Molly said, hoping that the tone of her voice conveyed some note of seriousness.

They sat chatting for a bit longer, but didn't talk any more about her situation with Sherlock. John told her of a new woman he'd been seeing, although he didn't think it was going anywhere, and that they hadn't had any cases lately in 221B. It seemed that no one had been coming to ask Sherlock for his help with anything, that or he had just been relentlessly turning everyone down. Molly asked about Sally Donovan, and if Sherlock had found any leads on her case, but it was still cold. She often wondered what could have happened to Sally, but didn't have any answers. They talked in the cafe for close to two hours before Molly decided that it was time to go back to her brother's house.

“It really was nice to see you again, John. Please give Toby a nice cuddle for me, when you get back.” Molly said with a smile as she gathered her things and prepared to leave.

“I'll do that, and I'll try to talk some sense into Sherlock. He really does love you, you know. Why else would he be so stubborn about this?”

“I know. I really hope he comes around. I'll talk to you soon, John.”

When she returned to her brother's house he was gone, probably at work, but she let herself in with the key he had given her and made her way to the spare bedroom in the back of the house that she called hers. When she entered she saw a small package on the bed with a letter beside it. Her name was written in the most beautiful cursive handwriting she'd ever seen. She opened the envelope and took the letter out carefully to read the contents.

 

_Dearest Molly,_

 

_I know you find it hard to trust me now, and you have every right to feel that way, but I hope that you'll understand. My interest in The Woman was purely for the case that she presented to me. I, in no way, meant to hurt you or betray your trust, I only wanted to get to the bottom of the mystery. I know now that I should have been completely honest with you and, in future- if you'll let me- I promise to be honest with you about everything. I hope that you don't hate me, as I could never live with myself knowing that I've pushed away one of the only people that has ever truly loved me. Irene Adler is gone forever, and I've come to terms with the fact that I will probably never know what secrets died with her. I only want you back in my life._

_I've taken the liberty of leaving you a small gift, it was supposed to be for Christmas, but I never got the chance to give it to you. I hope you like it. Please, contact me soon. I miss you sorely, and would love for you to come back to stay with me again. Toby sends his love. I look forward to hearing from you._

 

_Forever yours,_

_Sherlock Holmes_

 

Molly shook her head as she realized that everything her brother had told her on the night she'd come to stay with him was 100% true. He'd told her that Sherlock would find her, and that was exactly what he had done. She put the letter down gently on the bed side table and picked up the box that laid on her pillow. It was wrapped expertly in red paper with a golden bow on top. She unwrapped it quickly, eager to see what was inside and found a ring box under the paper. Her breath hitched as she thought about what this might mean for her. Could she have broken things off with Sherlock just before he was going to propose to her? She thought for a moment how silly that sounded, but remembered how long they'd known each other. Sherlock wasn't one for beating around the bush, if he saw something as logical, he just went for it. She slowly opened the box to reveal a beautiful shining silver ring with a single, albeit very large, diamond centered on the top. She felt like she couldn't breath, realizing how absolutely stupid she'd been that night, and immediately dug her mobile out of her pocket to call Sherlock. She only had to suffer through two rings before he answered.

“Molly.” Sherlock's voice sounded strained, as if he didn't believe that she was actually calling him.

“Sherlock, you sod, when I told you to give me a ring I meant on the phone!” She cried happily into her phone as she pulled the ring from the box and slipped it onto her left ring finger.

“I thought the one I gave you was more appropriate.” Sherlock said, and Molly could hear the happiness returning to his tone. “Can you find it in your heart to forgive me and, perhaps, accept my marriage proposal?”

“I want to come back home, with you and Toby and John. I'm sorry I've been so difficult, and yes, of course I accept! How could I say no?”

“Don't apologize for a single thing.” Sherlock said quickly. “I'll come to get you now. Pack your things.”

“Right away. I'll need to tell Fred what's happened.”

“Of course, take your time, and I'll see you very soon, darling.” Sherlock said. Molly was a bit taken aback by the pet name that Sherlock had just used. Of all the trivial things he was strongly against, she would have thought pet names would be on the list. She decided not to bring it up, though, and smiled in spite of herself.

“I love you, Sherlock.” Molly said, looking at the ring that now graced her finger.

“And I you.” Sherlock replied, then hung up to make his way to get her.

Molly had just finished packing her things when she heard the front door open. She half expected it to be Sherlock, but knew that he would probably ring the bell upon arriving here, and thus realized that Fred had just returned home. She ran into the sitting room where the front door was with a smile so large on her face that Fred feared she might split in two.

“What's gotten into you?” He asked as he put the bag containing his laptop on a small table beside the door.

“Sherlock came here while I went to meet John. He left me something that he intended to give me for Christmas.” She beamed, holding out her left hand and showing off the new jewelery she had received.

“Oh my God, Molly, that thing is huge.” Fred said as he walked toward her and took her hand for closer inspection of the ring.

“He's coming to get me now. I can't wait for you to meet him! Oh, Fred, I know you'll love him.”

“If he makes you this happy, I can't see how I could dislike him.” Fred said, smiling and hugging his baby sister tightly. It wasn't much longer before the doorbell sounded, and Molly rushed to the door faster than she could blink, swinging it open and launching herself at the tall man standing outside. Sherlock caught her as she rushed into his arms and held onto her tightly, smoothing the back of her hair with his right hand. Molly looked up at him and placed a tender kiss on his lips, and one that was long over due. She turned around, beaming at her brother as she drug Sherlock into the house by his hand.

“Fred, this is Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock, this is my older brother, Fred.” Molly introduced the two men as they stepped toward each other. They were of the same height with one another, and seemed to be happy to meet.

“You've caused my little sister a bit of pain, Mr. Holmes.” Fred said somberly as he looked at Sherlock.

“I know, and I can never forgive myself for such a horrible mistake, but it seems that we've made amends.” Sherlock rebutted, staring down at Molly with a smile.

“If you make her happy, then I'm happy for the two of you. Just know that if you ever hurt her again, I'll have your head.”

“Frederick Martin Hooper!” Molly exclaimed, using her brother's full name to show her disappointment, just as their mother had always done. He flinched back instinctively at the sound and then smiled.

“I'm only joking, Molls, I know he won't screw up again. I know love when I see it. Please, come back and visit me. Before you came to stay here it had been far too long.”

“We were a bit indisposed, as I'm sure Molly has told you.” Sherlock said, and Molly was glad that she actually had told her brother about what had happened before Christmas.

“She has.” Fred smiled at his little sister and took her into another embrace, which she happily returned, then looked at Sherlock again. “Take good care of her, Sherlock. Don't let her be hurt again.”

“I have no intentions on letting that happen.” Sherlock answered. After a bit more time saying goodbye to Fred, Molly and Sherlock loaded themselves into a cab and made for Baker Street. Molly was happy to be going back there. She missed the atmosphere. She missed Mrs. Hudson and John and Toby, but most of all she missed Sherlock. She leaned against his shoulder and took a deep breath, breathing in the scent of him that she had dreamt of while they'd been apart. She had lost herself in it before they pulled up the curb and Sherlock paid the cabby. He carried her luggage up the stairs for her and they walked into the sitting room to see an eager tabby cat greeting them. Molly bent down to stroke him for a moment and then turned her attention to Sherlock.

“I hope you learned your lesson, Mister.” Molly said playfully, swatting his chest with her right hand. He pulled her close and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips, which quickly turned heated as he picked her up and started toward the bedroom. The door was slightly open, and he kicked it the rest of the way with his foot, but neither of them were prepared for what they would see upon entering. Sherlock broke the kiss when he realized that someone was already in his room, and sleeping in his bed. To his horror- and surprise- he recognized the woman as Irene Adler.

“Sherlock...” Molly whispered as if she didn't want to wake The Woman. “What is she doing here?”

“I wish I knew.” He answered, and set Molly on her own feet before John came bustling into the room to take in the scene.

“Bloody hell, what's she doing here?” He asked, realizing that Molly and Sherlock had only just made things better between them.

“John, I think we have a client.”

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning for a tiny bit of language toward the beginning of this chapter. Hope you enjoy!

Molly didn't know what to do, she felt like the world was closing in on her, the room was getting darker and darker and it was hard for her to breathe. She just stared at Irene Adler, in Sherlock's bed, the bed that Molly had shared with him, wearing his blue dressing gown. Molly had loved that dressing gown on Sherlock, it was a shame she would have to burn it when this was over. All she could think was rage, all that went through her mind were all the horrible things she would do to that Irene, but she knew she couldn't go through with any of it. Instead, she walked over to the bed and stood over the sleeping woman, staring down at her with a glare that could make Jim Moriarty himself look like an innocent little puppy.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” She asked, letting her anger get the best of her. She pushed Irene's shoulder hard to wake her up, and The Woman rolled over with a start. She pulled the covers over herself as if she were trying to shield her body, and scrambled back and away from Molly. It was clear that she was startled, but that was exactly what Molly wanted.

“Molly...” Sherlock warned, but Molly turned her murderous glare on him instead and he backed away with a shocked look on his face.

“Answer me!” She yelled at The Woman, taking a step forward.

“I...I didn't know where else to go.” Irene stammered, trying to gain more distance from Molly.

“You are supposed to be _dead_.”

“Well, surprise, I'm not.” Irene seemed to have gained a bit of her coolness back, clearly recovering from the fright she had gotten when she first woke up.

“Perhaps we could go to the sitting room where it's less...hostile.” John suggested, furrowing his brow and wondering if he could have put that any less eloquently than he had. Molly took a deep breath and, grabbing Sherlock by the hand, stormed out of the room and down the hall to the sitting room where she took a seat in Sherlock's chair. Sherlock sat on the arm, as he normally did, and when John entered, he brought a chair from the kitchen for Irene to sit in. He then took his place in his chair as Irene entered the room and sat down. Sherlock was hesitant, but decided that he would speak to The Woman to find out why she was there.

“So, who's after you?” He asked, not letting his voice betray how ridiculously anxious he was feeling. A cigarette would do nicely right about now.

“People who want to kill me.” Irene purred, tossing her hair over one shoulder and crossing her legs.

“Who's that?”

“Killers.” She smirked.

“It would help if you were a bit more specific.” John urged.

“So, you faked your own death in order to get ahead of them.” Sherlock chimed in again, piecing things together as they spoke.

“It worked for a while.”

“Why did you give me your camera phone on Christmas Eve?”

“Oh, speaking of that, where have you put it?” Irene asked, looking around the flat.

“It's not here. We're not stupid.” John added.

“Then what have you done with it? If they've guessed you've got it, they'll be watching you.”

“If they've been watching me, they'll know that I took a safety deposit box at a bank on the Strand a few months ago.” Sherlock replied coolly.

“I need it.” Irene said, not a hint of the flirtatious tone she'd had a moment ago remained in her voice.

“Well, we can't just go and get it now, can we?” John said in a mocking tone.

“I know it's here. You can't keep secrets from me, Sherlock.” Irene smirked at him and that set Molly's blood to boiling.

“Can we just dump her out on the street and wait for whoever is after her to come get her?” Molly asked angrily from her seat. Sherlock shot a worried glance back at her and then turned back to look at Irene.

“We can't let her be killed, Molly. Mycroft would have my head.” Sherlock answered and Molly crossed her arms over her chest.

“You've got a feisty little pet there, Sherlock. Wherever did you find her?” Irene asked, raising an eyebrow and leaning around to have a better look at Molly.

“She's my pathologist.” Sherlock said, but then quickly realized he'd made a mistake. “Also my fiance.”

“Fiance?” Irene seemed shocked. “I never thought you'd go for a little mouse like her. You seem like someone who fancies someone more like a...lioness.”

“That's quite enough out of you!” Molly stood in her anger and Sherlock thought he might have to keep her from attacking Irene. “I've had just about enough of your games, so you'd better state your case, and quickly, before I have to do something I'll regret.”

“Well, I only need my camera phone, that's why I came here, it's my protection. I didn't think that Sherlock was already promised to someone or I would have never made myself at home in his bedroom.”

“Oh no, of course not.” Molly scoffed, rolling her eyes. Irene was about to start speaking again when Sherlock pulled her camera phone out of the inside pocket of his suit jacket and tossed it gently in the air.

“So, what do you keep on here, in general, I mean.” Sherlock asked, taunting The Woman with the camera phone.

“Pictures, information, anything I might find useful.” Irene answered, her eyes trained on the phone as Sherlock played with it.

“What, for blackmail?” John asked.

“For protection. I make my way in the world; I misbehave. I like to know people will be on my side exactly when I need them to be.”

“So how do you acquire this information?” Sherlock asked.

“I told you,” she paused and smirked in his direction. “I misbehave.”

Molly snorted and rolled her eyes at Irene's statement.

“But you've acquired something that's more danger than protection. Do you know what it is?”

“Yes, but I don't understand it.” Irene admitted, looking away as if she was ashamed.

“I assumed. Show me.” Sherlock said and Irene held her hand out for the camera phone. Sherlock drew it back toward himself. “The pass code.”

“I don't think so.” Irene said, leaving her hand where it had been. Sherlock eventually gave in and let Irene have the phone. She smirked with satisfaction as she keyed in a code, then frowned. “It's not working.”

“No, because that's a duplicate that I had made, into which you've just entered the numbers 1508.” Sherlock smirked, taking a different phone out of his pocket and keying in the numbers. “I assumed you'd choose something more specific than that but, thanks anyway.” He was astonished when the phone rejected his code. _WRONG PASS CODE. 1 ATTEMPT REMAINING_.

“I told you, that camera phone was my life. I know when it's in my hand.” Irene smirked again. It was a never ending back and forth between these two, and Molly absolutely could not stand it.

“Oh, you're rather good.” Sherlock said, which made Molly even more furious.

“You're not so bad.” Irene smiled.

“Sherlock.” John said gruffly, drawing his friend's attention to a very unhappy Molly Hooper standing in the middle of the sitting room. Sherlock realized that he'd said something wrong and immediately looked repentant of his relationship sin, even if he had no idea what he'd done wrong. He would have to sort that out later.

“There was a man,” Irene started, breaking the awkwardness that had permeated the flat. “an MOD official. I knew what he liked.” She got out of her chair and walked away a bit to key in the real pass code and pulled up a photo. “One of the things he liked was showing off. He told me this email was going to save the world. He didn't know it, but I photographed it. He was a bit tied up at the time. It's a bit small on that screen, can you read it?”

“Yes.” Sherlock answered, taking the camera phone into his hands and sitting down in his chair.

“A code, obviously. I had one of the best cryptographers in the country take a look at it, though he was mostly upside down, as I recall. Couldn't figure it out.” Irene sauntered toward Sherlock, shooting a bragging glance toward Molly as she perched herself on the arm of his chair. John looked uneasily at Molly who was visibly smoldering as she watched what unfolded. “What can _you_ do, Mr. Holmes.”

Irene leaned back so that she was able to view the screen with Sherlock. “Go on. Impress a girl.” Sherlock stared at the screen for a moment before Irene planted a small kiss on his cheek, then he started to speak quickly.

“There's a margin for error, but I'm pretty sure there's a Seven Forty-Seven leaving Heathrow tomorrow at six thirty in the evening for Baltimore. Apparently it's going to save the world. Not sure how that's true but give me a moment, I've only been on the case for eight seconds.”

John stared flabbergasted at his friend and Molly looked appalled that he was helping The Woman with anything other than leaving the flat. John stood, just in case he needed to hold Molly back from attacking their unwanted guest.

“Oh, come on,” Sherlock said as if he was about to explain the most obvious thing in the world. “It's not code, these are seat allocations on a passenger jet. There's no letter 'I' because that can be mistaken for a '1', no letters past 'K', the numbers always appear randomly and not in sequence but the letters have little runs of sequence all over the place- families and couples sitting together. Only a jumbo jet is wide enough to need the letter 'K' or rows past fifty-five, which is why there's always an upstairs. There's a row thirteen, which eliminates the more superstitious airlines. Then there's the style of the flight number- zero zero seven- that eliminates a few more; and assuming a British point of origin, which would be logical considering the original source of the information and assuming from the increased pressure on you lately that the crisis is imminent, the only flight that matches all the criteria and departs within the next week is the six thirty to Baltimore tomorrow evening from Heathrow Airport.”

Irene only stared at Sherlock from her position on the arm of his chair with wide eyes, no doubt wondering how on Earth he could get all that from one little line of text.

“Please don't feel obligated to tell me that was remarkable or amazing. John's expressed the same thought in every possible variant known to the English language.” Sherlock stated, feeling extremely proud of himself.

“I would have you right here until you begged for mercy twice.” Irene said, leaning toward Sherlock with a sultry look in her eyes.

“I've never begged for mercy in my life.” Sherlock rebutted.

“Twice.” Irene insisted. Before John or Sherlock could think to stop her, Molly had her fists in Irene's hair and was yanking her away from Sherlock with a force that she didn't even know she was capable of. She threw her to the floor and was about to continue the attack when John pulled her off. She fought against him for a moment, but his strength proved to be too much as he pushed her into his chair and waited for Irene to pick herself up. She did just that and smiled in Molly's direction.

“Now I see why you like her. She likes to play rough.” Irene smirked in Molly's direction, then turned back toward Sherlock to finish their conversation. “I'd love to believe that you're right, Sherlock, but until we have definitive proof...”

“John can you check those flight schedules to see if I'm right?” Sherlock asked. John looked at Molly for a moment and, after he was satisfied that she wasn't going to launch herself at The Woman again, he went to his laptop and pulled up the flight schedules.

“Yep, you're right. Flight double oh seven set to leave Heathrow tomorrow at six thirty.” John said after he'd looked at the page for a moment.

“Wait, what did you say?” Sherlock asked, suddenly realizing something was familiar about what John had said.

“I said you're right.”

“No, after that.”

“Flight double oh seven.”

“Double oh seven.” Sherlock sprang to his feet and began pacing in front of the fireplace. “Double oh seven, double oh seven...Something...something connected to double oh seven...what?” Molly watched him pace back and forth, muttering those same words over and over until something clicked in her mind.

“Double oh seven, didn't Mycroft say something about...Bond Air? Double oh seven is the number James Bond uses.” Molly said from her seat. Sherlock's eyes widened and he bent over in front of her, kissing her relentlessly and then pulling away.

“Molly Hooper, you are a genius.” He said, then pulled her to her feet and rushed to the door and started forcing her jacket and scarf on her. He threw John's to him as well and Molly looked a bit confused when he didn't put his on.

“What's going on?” Molly asked.

“I need you and John to go and speak to Mycroft. It's urgent.” Sherlock said, locking eyes with Molly as if to tell her that everything would be fine.

“Sherlock...” Molly started to protest but he kissed her again.

“Everything will be fine, Molly, I promise. You don't need to worry about a single thing.” He reassured her, then leaned in to whisper something in her ear. “Remember that you're the one with the ring.”

“Right, come on John, let's go.” Molly said quickly, giving Sherlock a peck on the cheek and then rushing out the door. John shot a very confused look at Sherlock, but followed behind Molly as she rushed down the stairs.

Once Sherlock and Irene were alone, he took out his violin and started plucking at the strings, sitting in his chair while she sat opposite him in John's. He lost himself in though for who know how long before he snapped back to reality.

“Coventry.” He said, although he didn't mean for it to be out loud.

“I've never been, it is nice?” Irene asked.

“It's just a story, but it might hold some significance here.”

“Have you ever _had_ anyone?” Irene suddenly asked, taking Sherlock by surprise. He raised an eyebrow, as if in confusion.

“Sorry?” He asked.

“And when I say 'had' I'm being indelicate.”

“I don't understand.”

“I'll be delicate, then.” Irene said, walking over to kneel in front of Sherlock's chair, curling her red-painted fingers around his hand. “Let's have dinner.”

“Why?” Sherlock asked, feeling a bit guilty for what was happening. He knew Molly wouldn't like it, that was clear from what had happened before she and John left the flat. He would just have to let her know when this was all over.

“I might be hungry.” She purred, looking into his eyes.

“I'm not.”

“Good.”

“Why would I want to...have dinner...” Sherlock sat forward in his chair and curled his finger around her wrist, feeling her pulse thrumming quickly under his fingertips. “if I'm not hungry?”

“Oh, Sherlock. If it was the end of the world, if this was our last night, would you have dinner with me?” Irene asked, leaning closer. Sherlock stared into her deep blue eyes for a moment, noticing the dilation of her pupils, before they were interrupted.

“Sherlock!” Mrs. Hudson called from downstairs, and Sherlock and Irene heard her trotting up to the door.

“Too late.” Irene said sadly, pulling away and going back to John's chair.

“That's not the end of the world, that's Mrs. Hudson.” Sherlock said tartly.

“Sherlock,” Mrs. Hudson began as she entered the room followed by a man in a very expensive looking suit. “this man was at the door. Is the bell still not working?” she turned to look at the man, pointing at Sherlock, “he shot it.”

“Are you here to retrieve me for my brother?” Sherlock asked, already having figured out exactly what was happening.

“Yes, Mr. Holmes.” The tall, dark skinned man said in a slightly irritated tone.

“Well, I decline.”

“I don't think you do.” The man said, handing Sherlock a plane ticket for the flight he had told Irene about that had his name on it. Sherlock looked at the ticket for a moment and then pushed himself to his feet, making for the door to grab his coat and scarf.

“Where are you going?” Irene asked, turning in her chair to have a better look at Sherlock while she spoke.

“I'm going to have a chat with my brother.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Sherlock had only been a bit uneasy about leaving The Woman alone in his flat, but decided that he needed to in order to get to the bottom of what was happening. He'd seen her at the window, watching him as the car he was in pulled away from the curb on Baker Street and made it's way toward the airport where he would, undoubtedly, find his brother waiting for him. Whether that was to explain what was happening or ship him off to a different country was something he hadn't quite concluded yet.

He sat in the back of the car, staring at the ticket that he had been handed to him in his flat and wondering what it could all be fore. Then, deciding to show off a bit, he started to talk to the driver of the car.

“There's going to be a bomb on a passenger jet. The British and American governments know about it but, rather than expose the source of that information, they're going to let it happen. The plane will blow up. Coventry all over again. The wheel turns. _Nothing_ is ever new.” He said in exasperation. It had been so easy for him to figure out what was going on that it almost bored him to tears. He would need to have a talk with Mycroft about being more secretive with his top secret affairs. Once they arrive at the airport, Sherlock was escorted to a large plane. The American man that he had subdued in Irene Adler's house stood at the bottom of the steps.

“Well, you're looking all better. How are you feeling?” Sherlock asked with a smug grin, remembering how he'd defeated this man when they last spoke.

“Like putting a bullet in your brain. Sir.” He answered, reluctantly adding the 'Sir' at the end of the sentence. Sherlock smirked and continued to walk up the stairs. “They'd pin a medal on me if I did. Sir.”

Sherlock half-turned to look at the man, but decided he didn't need to concern himself with such trivia at the moment, not when there was a bigger mystery waiting just at the top of the stairs. He walked in and pushed back a curtain that lead into the main passenger area of the plane and was astonished to find it full of people who looked to be deceased. Sherlock spent a few more minutes looking around before his brother's voice sounded from the other end of the plane.

“The Coventry conundrum.” Mycroft said coolly. “What do you think of my solution? The flight of the dead.”

“The plane blows up mid-air, mission accomplished for the terrorists. Hundreds of casualties, but nobody dies.” Sherlock said as he understood the meaning of what he was seeing.

“Neat, don't you think?” Mycroft asked, leaning against his umbrella as he spoke. “You've been stumbling round the fringes of this one for ages, or were you too bored to notice the pattern? We ran a similar project with the Germans a while back, though I believe one of our passengers didn't make the flight. But that's the deceased for you, late, in every sense of the word.”

“The man in the boot.” Sherlock said, remembering a case that Lestrade had brought to him before the whole Irene Adler mess started. “How will the plane fly? Of course. Unmanned aircraft, hardly new.”

“It _doesn't_ fly. It will never fly. This entire project is canceled. The terrorist cells have been informed that we know about the bomb. We can't fool them now, we've just lost everything. One fragment of one email, and months and years of planning are finished.”

“Your MOD man.”

“That's all it takes: one lonely, naive man, desperate to show off, and a woman clever enough to make him feel special.” Mycroft said, annoyed.

“Hmm, you should screen your defense people more carefully.” Sherlock said, as if to prove some sort of point. When Mycroft's scowl deepened, Sherlock knew he had missed something.

“I'm not talking about the MOD man, Sherlock; I'm talking about _you_!” Mycroft raised his voice and slammed the tip of his umbrella into the floor to punctuate his words. Sherlock didn't know what was happening, for once, he was genuinely confused. “The damsel in distress. In the end, are you really so obvious? Because this was textbook. The promise of love, the pain of loss, the joy of redemption; then give him a puzzle, and watch him dance.”

“Don't be absurd.” Sherlock tried to protest, but his brother wasn't having any of it.

“Absurd? How quickly did you decipher that email for her? Was it the full minute, or were you really eager to impress?”

“I think it was more like five seconds.” Irene Adler's voice sounded from behind Sherlock, and he turned with a confused expression to see her striding down the aisle toward him.

“I drove you into her path. I'm sorry. I didn't know.” Mycroft said, seemingly genuine in his apology.

“Mr. Holmes, I think we need to talk.” Irene said, looking straight down the aisle.

“So do I. There are a number of aspects I'm still not quite clear on.” Sherlock started.

“Not you, junior, you're done now.” She said, pushing past him and walking straight to Mycroft. “There's more, loads more. On this phone I've got secrets, pictures, and scandals that would topple your whole world. You have no idea how much havoc I can cause and exactly one way to stop me. Unless you want to tell your masters that your biggest security leak is your own little brother.”

 


	15. Chapter 15

Sherlock sat in front of a crackling fire in his brother's office at the Diogenes Club while Mycroft and Irene sat at a large table, trying to come to some sort of agreement about what was to be done. Irene was relentless but then, so was Mycroft. Neither of them seemed to be budging on their points, and it was driving Sherlock absolutely mad. He wanted nothing more than to be done with this whole business. All he wanted was to go back to Molly and tell her everything, to rid himself of the problems that The Woman had caused in his life and go back to being happy.

“We have people who can get into this.” Mycroft said to Irene as they sat staring at each other intensely.

“I tested that theory for you. I let Sherlock Holmes try it for two months.” Irene said, and without even turning around, Sherlock could tell that she was grinning wickedly as she spoke. “Sherlock dear, tell him what you found when you x-rayed my camera phone.”

“There are four additional units wired inside the casing, I suspect containing acid or a small amount of explosive.” Sherlock said flatly, tired of being Irene Adler's puppet. “Any attempt to open the casing will burn the hard drive.”

“Explosive. It's more me.” Irene purred.

“Some data is always recoverable.” Mycroft chimed in, reaching at any opportunity he could get.

“Are you willing to take that risk? I am.”

“You have a pass code to open this. I deeply regret to say that we have people who can extract it from you.”

“Sherlock.” Irene called on him again.

“There will be two pass codes- one to open the phone and one to burn the drive. Even under duress, you can't know which one she's given you and there will be no point in a second attempt.” He replied in a cold tone. Could this woman have really defeated him? Could she have outsmarted him and nearly ruined his relationship with Molly all for nothing? He supposed it was still too soon to say 'nearly' as Molly would be rather upset about what happened at the flat before they were all dispersed. There had to be some way.

“He's good, isn't he? I should have him on a leash. In fact, I might.” Irene chimed in again, that same smug tone to her voice. Sherlock couldn't even dream of turning around to face her right now.

“We destroy this, then. No one has the information.” Mycroft offered, still reaching.

“Fine. Good idea...unless there are lives of British citizens depending on the information you're about to burn.”

“Are there?”

“Telling you would be playing fair. I'm not playing anymore.” Irene then reached into her handbag and took an envelope out which she pushed across the table to Mycroft. “This is a list of my demands, and some ideas about my protection once they're granted. I'd say that it won't blow too big of a hole in the wealth of the nation, but then I'd be lying.”

Mycroft took the envelope and opened it, examining what was written on the paper closely.

“I imagine you'll like to sleep on it.” Irene said.

“Thank you, yes.” Mycroft replied.

“Too bad.” She snapped. “Now, off you pop and talk to people.”

“You've been very...thorough. I wish our lot were half as good as you.”

“I can't take all the credit. I had a bit of help.” Irene paused to look toward Sherlock. “Oh, Jim Moriarty sends his love.”

“Yes, he's been in touch. Seems desperate for my attention, which I'm sure can be arranged.” Mycroft was severely fighting the urge to roll his eyes.

“I had all this stuff, never knew what to do with it. Thank God for the consulting criminal. Gave me a lot of advice on how to play the Holmes boys. Do you know what he calls you?” Irene asked, getting up and perching herself on the end of the table to be closer to Mycroft. “The Ice Man...and the Virgin. Didn't even ask for anything. I think he just likes to cause trouble. Now _that's_ my kind of man.”

“And here you are, the dominatrix who brought a nation to its knees.” Mycroft snorted. “Nicely played.”

“No.” Sherlock said suddenly, getting up to face Irene.

“Sorry?” She said with a laugh.

“I said no. Very _very_ close, but no.” He walked forward to stand dangerously close to Irene. “You got carried away. The game was too elaborate. You were enjoying yourself too much.”

At that moment, John and Molly peeked their heads inside the door. They had been trying to find Mycroft all night and had only just succeeded. Molly was upset by the closeness of Sherlock and Irene, but she decided to wait and listen.

“No such thing as too much.”

“Oh, enjoying the thrill of the chase is fine, craving the distraction of the game- I sympathize entirely- but sentiment? Sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side.”

“Sentiment? What are you talking about?” Irene seemed genuinely confused, but Sherlock knew better.

“You.” Sherlock said, and took another step forward.

“Oh dear God, look at the poor man. You don't actually think I was interest in you? Why? Because you're the great Sherlock Holmes, the clever detective with the funny hat?” Irene was smiling in amusement as Sherlock got even closer.

“No.” He seemed to purr as he reached out and took her wrist in his hand. “Because I took your pulse. Elevated. Your pupils dilated.” Sherlock released her and went to pick up the camera phone that sat on the table. He motioned for John and Molly to come into the room and continued.

“I imagine John thinks love is a mystery to me, but the chemistry is incredibly simple, and very destructive. When we first me, you told me that disguise is always a self-portrait. How true of you. The combination to your safe, your measurements, but this...this is far more intimate. This is your heart.” Sherlock pulled the lock screen up and began typing in letters. “And you should never let your heart rule your head. But you just couldn't resist, could you? I've always assumed that love is a dangerous disadvantage, and in your case, you've proven me absolutely correct.”

“Everything I've said, it's not real. I was just playing the game.” Irene began, tears forming in her eyes as she watched Sherlock punch in the last letter.

“I know, and this is just losing.” Sherlock said, and turned the phone toward her to show the letters 'SHER' typed into the lock screen so that it read 'I AM SHER LOCKED'. The phone opened and he handed it to Mycroft as a single tear fell from Irene's eye. Sherlock could see Molly smiling out of the corner of his eye and thanked every deity he didn't believe in for that smile.

“There you are, brother. I hope the contents make up for any inconvenience I may have caused you tonight.”

“I'm certain they will.” Mycroft answered, taking the phone from his brother.

“If you're feeling kind, lock her up. Otherwise, let her go. I doubt she'll survive long without her protection.” Sherlock smirked at Irene as he moved away from her.

“Are you expecting me to beg?” She asked, her hands trembling.

“Yes.” Sherlock answered flatly.

“Please. You're right. I won't last six months.” Irene pleaded, reaching toward Sherlock who swiftly moved away and toward Molly, looping an arm around her shoulders as he reached the door.

“Sorry about dinner.” He said, then walked out with Molly smiling at his side.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Baker Street had been quiet since Irene Adler's disappearance. Molly didn't care too much what had happened to her, but she knew that Sherlock had been keeping tabs, if only out of morbid curiosity. It didn't really matter, anyway, Sherlock had chosen who he wanted that night, and that person had been Molly. She felt silly for ever having doubted his devotion to her in the first place. After all, Sherlock wasn't really the type of person that 'played the field'. Over all, Molly knew that she'd made a mistake in leaving Sherlock for those two months, but she would make up for it. They were due to get married soon, and Sherlock had agreed to a small wedding ceremony and reception. She was caught up in thinking about what it was going to be like being married to Sherlock as they lay cuddled together on the sofa in the sitting room. John had gone out, Sherlock didn't really like cuddling while other people were around, so they had the perfect opportunity now. Molly smiled as he gently rubbed his fingers up and down her arm as he thought.

“Molly,” He started, pulling back to look at her. “would you like to meet my parents?”

“What?” Molly asked, she was a bit taken aback. She'd never dreamed that Sherlock would suggest something like that. Sherlock had already met her brother, and her parents had been deceased for years, so she supposed it was only right that she meet the people who raised Sherlock and Mycroft. If nothing else it was bound to be an interesting evening.

“Mycroft told them about us, against my will I'll have you know. My mother is persistent, and she's threatened to come here to visit if we don't come over for dinner.”

“I'd love to meet them.” Molly smiled, laying her head back on Sherlock's shoulder.

“Don't be too eager, they're rather intolerable.”

“Don't say that about your parents! I'm sure they're lovely people.” Molly chastised and shot Sherlock a look.

“Lovely, perhaps, but not very understanding of the way Mycroft and I have turned out. My mother told me to be a philosopher or a chemist, but I much preferred being a detective. I don't think she's ever forgiven me for that.”

“Sherlock, I'm sure your mother loves you just the way you are.” Molly reassured him.

“Of course she loves me, she smothers me! If she had it her way Mycroft and I would both still be living at home. She wants nothing more than to keep us boys forever.”

“I'm afraid it's a bit late for that.”

Sherlock snorted a laugh as John walked through the door. Knowing that Sherlock would be uncomfortable being so intimate in front of John, Molly removed herself from his shoulder and sat straighter in her seat. John was carrying a file folder as he walked into the room and Sherlock rose to greet him.

“Clearly you've got news.” Sherlock said immediately, not giving John a chance to speak. “If it's about the Leeds triple murder, it was the gardener. Nobody noticed the earring.”

“Well, no actually.” John said, nodding his greeting to Molly and then turning his attention back to Sherlock. “It's about Irene Adler.”

“Oh.” Sherlock looked like he was thinking hard about something for a moment. “What's happened? Did she come back?”

“No she's...um...I just bumped into Mycroft downstairs. He had to take a call.” John was clearly beating around the bush, trying to decide on what to say.

“Is she back in London?” Sherlock kept pressing, trying to find out what John wanted to say.

“No...no, she's...in America.”

“America?” Sherlock looked confused.

“Mm-hm. Got herself on a witness protection scheme, apparently. Dunno how she swung it, but...uh...well, you know.”

“I know what?”

“Nothing...just...we'll probably never see her again.” John said, stammering his whole way through the conversation.

“Why would I want to see her again?” Sherlock asked. Molly could almost see the gears inside his head turning.

“Didn't say you did.” John smiled, turning to take the file back downstairs.

“Is that her file?” Sherlock asked quickly.

“Yes. I was just going to take it back to Mycroft. Do you want to look at it?”

“No.”

“Listen...the truth is...”

“But I will have that phone.” Sherlock said, cutting off whatever John was about to say.

“There's nothing on it anymore. It's been stripped.” John looked confused.

“I know but I...I'll still have it.”

“Sherlock, I _have_ to give this back to Mycroft, it belongs to the government now. I couldn't give you this phone if I wanted to.”

“Please, John.” Sherlock said. He rarely used that word, so John gave in as soon as he uttered it. He dug into the plastic bag marked 'evidence' and retrieved the phone, handing it to Sherlock. Sherlock slipped it into his pocket and went back to sit with Molly. “Thank you.”

“Well, I'd...better take this back.” John said, turning on his heel and walking back downstairs.

“What was all that about?” Molly asked curiously.

“I wanted to keep it as a reminder. She almost beat me, that's something I can't forget, not ever. I can't ever let another enemy infiltrate my head like she did. She got in and ripped my relationship with you apart, and that left me vulnerable. No one will ever do it again, not as long as I have this to remember her by. The Woman. The Woman that almost beat Sherlock Holmes.” He explained, taking the phone back out of his pocket to examine it.

“Did she ever try to contact you again? I mean, after that night?” Molly asked more out of curiosity than anything. She wasn't worried about anything coming between herself and Sherlock anymore, but she thought it might be entertaining to know.

“She did once, a few months back when you went to go visit your brother for the weekend.” Sherlock replied.

“What did it say?”

“Goodbye, Mr. Holmes.”

“What do you think it meant?”

“She's dead. I don't know why John felt the need to lie to me about it, I'm sure Mycroft told him what happened to her. She was captured in Karachi and beheaded. She sent that message to me the night it happened.”

“That's a bit morbid.”

“Yes, well, that's how terrorist cells work. It was bound to happen eventually, she knew far too much.” Sherlock said flippantly. Molly expected some kind of emotion from him while telling that story, but she couldn't find any.

“So, when's this dinner, then?” Molly asked, changing the subject to something a bit more pleasant.

“I'm sure it will be soon. Mummy will be elated that you're willing to meet her. Another thing I've kept her waiting far too long for are grandchildren, apparently.” Sherlock shuddered a bit at the thought of what he'd just said and walked into the kitchen to put the kettle on. Molly blushed and smiled, then followed him.

“You don't want children?”

“I've just never thought about that before. I haven't had a reason to. Everyone else's children seem so...horrifyingly dim.”

“You're afraid that your children will be anything less than shockingly brilliant?”

“With anyone else that would be my concern.” Sherlock glanced over his shoulder at Molly before turning completely to face her. “But, with parents as bright as the two of us, I'm not sure how they could be anything but prodigies.”

“You haven't given me an answer.” Molly smiled, but crossed her arms in front of her chest to give the illusion that she was very serious about the matter.

“If children are what you desire, then I would be happy to give them to you. I just didn't think you'd be willing to give up your career so early in life.”

“Give up my career? I wouldn't have to do that.” Molly protested. Since when had Sherlock Holmes gained such closed minded views on women?

“I just assumed you would want to devote yourself entirely.”

“You spend more time at home than I do. You can be daddy day care, I'll be making all the money.” Molly teased and closed the distance between them for a kiss. Sherlock only broke it to tend to the now boiling kettle.

“I'm sure we can figure something out, when the time comes.” Sherlock said, trying to brush off the slightly uncomfortable topic. Once the tea was made, Sherlock excused himself to go and call his mother. Molly was sitting comfortably in Sherlock's chair, a crackling fire in front of her and Toby on her lap purring while she sipped her tea. She was a bit confused when her mobile started to buzz and she drew it from her pocket to see the word 'unknown' displayed across the screen.

“Sherlock.” She called, but he didn't give an answer. She decided to answer the call regardless. “Hello?”

“Did you miss me?” A very familiar voice rang over the phone and Molly felt her breath hitch in her throat.

“You...” Molly could hardly speak, whatever words did come out of her mouth were all in whispers.

“Hello there, Molly. How has your life been since we last met?”

“Jim...”

“Yes. It's been a while hasn't it? How did you and Sherlock like playing with Miss Adler? It's a shame what happened to her. I wonder how those naughty terrorists found out where she was hiding.” His tone was pleasant as he spoke, but his voice still managed to send chills down Molly's spine.

“W-what do you want?”

“Just thought I'd get in touch, see how your life was going. Congratulations on your engagement. I'm sure the two of you will be very happy together.”

“How do you...” Molly started but was cut off.

“Oh please Molly, I thought we'd moved past silly questions like that now. Knowing is what I do. Now, there are more important things to talk about.”

“What do you mean?” Molly asked, swallowing hard as her nerves got worse and worse.

“I owe you a fall, Molly Hooper, you and your darling Sherlock Holmes.”

“I don't understand.”

“Of course you don't, but it will all be made clear in time. You don't have anything to worry about just yet, I'm still getting all the pieces in place. You'll know when it's time. Now, run along and tell Sherlock what I've just told you, and enjoy your time with his parents. They really are very lovely people. Au revoir, Molly.” Jim hung up after that and left Molly a shaking mess as she tried to find her voice again. Sherlock had just come back into the kitchen and was likely about to start complaining about his phone call when he noticed the state she was in.

“What's wrong?” He asked, rushing to her side. She was still speechless and staring into the flames with a horrible expression plastered on her face. He gripped her shoulders and shook her slightly. “Molly!”

“He's back.” She whispered, and that was all that he needed. Sherlock sunk to his knees in front of her and pulled her into an embrace just before her sobs racked her. Toby jumped off of her lap, feeling too closed in by their bodies, and Sherlock pulled Molly closer. They both ended up on the floor. Molly sobbing into Sherlock's shoulder as he smoothed the back of her hair in a calming fashion. John came back into the room then, not realizing what had just happened.

“So, do you both fancy some chips for dinner?” He asked before he saw them huddled together on the floor in front of the fire. Sherlock turned his head to look at his friend, conveying the gravity of the situation with his eyes. “What's happened?”

“It's Moriarty, he's back, John.” Sherlock said, still trying to comfort a clearly disturbed Molly.  
“What's he done?” John was exceedingly concerned for Molly as he walked over to take a seat in his chair.

“He just called me. He knew everything about us, John. Everything. He knew we were getting married, he knew about Irene, he even knows that we're going to your parents house for dinner, Sherlock. What is he going to do?” Molly suddenly found her voice again and explained what Moriarty had said. “He said he owes us a fall. What does that mean?”

“I don't know.” Sherlock admitted, getting to his feet and helping Molly back into his chair, then sitting on the arm. “I don't like not knowing.”

“What are we going to do, Sherlock?” Molly asked, biting her fingernails in the nasty habit that she had developed when she was extremely stressed.

“We can't do anything for now. I don't know where he is, or what he's up to. We'll just need to wait and collect more evidence.”

“You want to wait for a homicidal psychopath to make the first move?” John asked in a surprised tone.

“What else would you have me do?”

“I don't know, you're Sherlock bloody Holmes! Deduce something!”

“It's not that easy! I've got nothing to go on. I know this is incredibly stressful for everyone, but if you could all please just stop panicking, that would be wonderful. It isn't easy to think when everyone around you is yelling.”

“I'm scared.” Molly admitted, looking at Sherlock. He looped an arm around her and pulled her to his side, and breathed a heavy sigh.

“I know. He will not hurt you again, Molly. You have my word. We'll just have to see how everything plays out and, until then, you won't be leaving my side. I'll have Mycroft talk to Mike Stamford to let him know you won't be able to come into work. I trust you can handle yourself, John?”

“Yeah.” John replied, but Molly could tell that he was nearly as worried about the whole ordeal as she was.

“Just keep your eyes open for anything suspicious. As long as we do that, we should all be fine.”

 


	16. Chapter 16

Sherlock had been taking a lot of cases lately. He needed a distraction from Moriarty, and with the dinner with his parents drawing ever nearer, he was more than a bit stressed. He'd been receiving a lot of gifts from people for solving their cases, and gaining a lot of media coverage along the way. One photographer had even managed to snap a picture of him while he was out with Molly, and that had caused him to rule out every outing she suggested from then on. The three flatmates had been drinking tea in the sitting room one morning when Sherlock really went off.

“Boffin! Boffin, Sherlock Holmes!” He said, throwing down the newspaper with an exasperated sigh and flinging himself onto the sofa.

“I think it's sexy.” Molly teased as she stroked Toby's head.

“Everyone gets one.” John said with a bit of a smile that he was trying very hard to hide.

“Gets what?” Sherlock asked, tilting his head to look in the direction of his friend.

“A tabloid nickname. You shouldn't worry, I’ll probably get one soon.”

“Page five, column six, first sentence.”

“Bachelor John Watson.” John read out with wide eyes.

“Why is it always the hat photograph?” Sherlock chimed in.

“Bachelor? What the hell's that supposed to mean?” It was as if the two men were having two completely different conversations.

“Is it a cap? Why has it got two fronts?” Sherlock said, continuing to talk about the hat that he'd received from Mrs. Hudson for Christmas. They somehow managed to keep him from throwing it out, with a great deal of effort, and it always seemed to end up in the sitting room, where Sherlock spent most of his time.

“Frequently seen in the company of _bachelor_ John Watson. Oh, look Molly, there's a picture of the two of you.” John said, flipping the paper around so Molly could see. She wasn't sure why Sherlock was so upset about the photo, it was really quite nice. They were depicted sitting in a small Italian restaurant having a candlelit dinner. Sherlock was smiling at Molly and she was smiling back at him. It was like a scene from a movie, and perfectly displayed how much they were totally in love. Molly smiled.

“It's a rather nice photo.” She said, then went back to petting Toby. John continued to read and he seemed to get more and more concerned as he did so.

“Okay, this is too much. We need to be more careful.”

“Oh for God's sake, it's got flaps! Ear flaps! It's an ear hat, John!” Sherlock said, still complaining about the deerstalker as he tossed it across the room in his frustration. Molly giggled a bit at his antics and that brought on a smile from him. “What do you mean be more careful?”

“I mean, that hat isn't a deerstalker anymore, it's a Sherlock Holmes hat. You're not exactly a _private_ detective anymore. You're this far from being famous.” John said, measuring out about an inch with his fingers.

“It'll pass.” Sherlock said, although he didn't seem completely confident.

“It had better pass. The press _will_ turn, Sherlock. They always turn, and they'll turn on you.”

“It really bothers you.” Sherlock said, narrowing his eyes on John.

“What?”

“What they say.”

“Of course it bothers me.” John said incredulously.

“About me? I don't understand. Why would it bother _you_. Molly I could understand, but she doesn't seem concerned.”

“Just...try to keep a low profile. Find yourself a little case this week. Stay out of the news.

“I won't be taking a case this week. Molly and I have dinner with my parents tonight. Normally I would try and avoid it, but Molly seems to be excited, I can't imagine why. I can't have a case getting in the way, so, your wish is granted.”

“Should we take anything with us? A dessert, a bottle of wine?” Molly asked, since Sherlock brought up the dinner.

“We can pick up wine before we go. Mummy will have all the food prepared, I'm sure. She does love to cook.”

“I'll go get ready now and we can go and pick out the perfect one.” Molly said, sitting Toby down on the chair and springing to her feet to bound off toward the bathroom.

“She really is excited, isn't she?” John asked with a grin after Molly had left the room.

“Very. I think she's gotten her hopes up a bit too high. Wouldn't want her to be disappointed.” Sherlock replied, shooing the cat off of his chair and sitting down to pluck at the strings of his violin.

“Have you heard anything more from Moriarty?” John asked, Sherlock shook his head.

“Not since he called Molly. I told Mycroft to keep an eye out, but he hasn't seen or heard anything either. It's a bit worrisome.”

“You don't say.” John rolled his eyes and continued skimming through the paper.

“Something is coming, and soon. He wouldn't go to all the trouble of calling in person if he didn't have something planned. Something big. Are you sure you want to stay here alone tonight. I'm sure my mother would welcome you with open arms.”

“A dinner with the Holmes family? I think I'll pass. I've got my gun, I'll be fine.”

“Guns didn't work so well the first time we encountered him.”

“I'm counting on him _not_ having five snipers trained on my head this time.” John said and put the paper down. “Go and enjoy your dinner and we can figure everything out when you get back.”

“I don't know about enjoy, but I'll go.” Sherlock replied, then stood. “I suppose I'll need to go get ready as well. What will you do while we're gone?”

“Thinking about going to the pub with Lestrade. He and his wife have split again, he's feeling a bit down.”

“I told him that they weren't getting back together at Christmas.”

“Yeah, well, don't rub it in while he's around.” John said with a sigh as Sherlock walked back to his bedroom to get dressed. He opened the wardrobe and saw the mess of clothes that were hanging inside. Most of them were his but some were Molly's. _A bigger wardrobe would do nicely_. He thought to himself as he dug through to find a nice black suit and the dark purple shirt that he knew Molly loved. He had just finished dressing when molly walked in, her hair wrapped in a towel, and closed the door behind her.

“What should I wear?” she asked, holding up the towel that she had wrapped herself in to make the journey from the bathroom to the room she shared with Sherlock. He went back to the wardrobe and poked around. He knew exactly what he would like for her to wear. He pulled out a pair of jeans that Molly never wore and a nice black blouse that had see-through chiffon sleeves and white pearly buttons, and laid the outfit out on the bed. He went back into the wardrobe to retrieve a pair of red, patent leather pumps and the box that held the pearls Mrs. Hudson had given Molly for Christmas.

“Do you think about dressing me often or should I be worried about those rumors about you and John?” Molly asked, a bit astonished that Sherlock had picked out such a well put together outfit for her.

“I mostly think about undressing you, but I like you in black.” Sherlock replied, walking over to press a kiss to Molly's forehead, completely ignoring the joke that she'd made. She smiled and shooed him out of the room so she could dress and Sherlock walked back to the sitting room, straightening his jacket as he entered. John had turned on the small television that sat in the corner of the sitting room and was half listening to a news story about Sherlock when he noticed his friend had come back into the room.

“I don't drink a lot of wine. What kind do most people like?” Sherlock asked John as he sat himself down in his chair.

“I'm sure Molly is more than adequate at picking out wine.” John said, then looked thoughtful for a moment. “Are you nervous about taking Molly to meet your parents?”

“I'm not worried about their disapproval of her, if that's what you mean. My mother will absolutely adore Molly and my father will, more than likely, just sit there and smile through the whole dinner. It's Mycroft that I'm worried about.”

“Mycroft likes Molly.” John said, looking confused.

“No, I mean I'm worried he might bring up something about her, or involving her, that I would rather him not bring up.”

“You haven't told them that you're engaged.” John said as the epiphany struck him.

“No. I'm surprised Mycroft didn't say anything when he told our mother about my relationship with Molly.”

“You've got to tell her eventually, Sherlock. She'll want to be at the wedding.”

“I was really hoping to avoid all that.” Sherlock sneered at the thought of his mother at his wedding, showering him in affection. It was almost enough to make him sick even thinking about it.

“Sherlock, you can't keep your mother away from your wedding. She's your mother for God's sake. If you don't tell her, I'll tell Molly about it.”

“Don't you dare.”

“Watch me.” John said as they heard Molly walking down the hallway to join them in the sitting room.

“What are you two talking about?” She asked.

“Nothing. Ready?” Sherlock replied quickly, going to put on his coat and scarf. He retrieved Molly's coat for her, as well, and helped her into it, the hurried her down the stairs, shooting a dirty look back at John.

“Can we walk to the shop? It's only a block.” Molly asked as they approached the door that lead outside of the building.

“If you like.” Sherlock said. He opened the door for her and they both stepped out onto the sidewalk and made for a small shop that was on the corner of the next block over. Molly knew that Sherlock didn't really like to show affection in public, but she grasped his hand and he didn't resist. They walked down the street and turned the corner to be met with a blinding flash and reporter shouting questions at Sherlock.

“Mr. Holmes, can I have a moment?” The reporter asked as he put his camera down. He was young, and probably looking for his first big story. He was petite and had short black hair and crystal blue eyes, and was very persistent.

“No.” Sherlock answered, continuing to walk and pulling Molly along by her hand.

“Please, I was just wondering if you'd started any new cases? Is there anything you could tell me?”

“I don't have a case at the moment. Leave me alone.”

“Can I at least have a picture of you and your fiance?” The reporter asked, following them as they walked.

“I believe you've already got one.” Sherlock replied, quickening his pace. Molly had a hard time keeping up in the heels Sherlock had picked out for her, they were so high that she almost reached an equal height with him.

“Wouldn't you like a decent picture to go in the paper?”

“I would like no picture to go into the paper at all. Thank you.”

“You'd do well to have a friend in the press, you know. Someone to stop the gossip, if things get out of hand.”

“Thank you, but I don't need someone like you to help me.” Sherlock said brusquely before they reached the shop and entered. The reporter stayed outside, seeming to wait for them to exit, but Sherlock lingered in the shop until the man left. Once they'd picked out a suitable bottle of wine, they hailed a cab and made for the home of Violet and Alvin Holmes. Molly couldn't help but feel a little anxious while they drove to their destination, but Sherlock helped to ease her troubled mind by holding her hand through the whole drive. When they arrived, Violet was waiting on the doorstep, waving her hands wildly before they even got out of the car. Her silver hair was tied up in a bun on the top of her head, and her green eyes sparkled as she rushed over to greet them. Sherlock opened the door and stepped out and Molly followed quickly after.

“Oh, welcome, welcome! Sherlock, it's been so long since I've seen you, how's my boy?” Violet asked, pulling Sherlock into a hug before he could protest.

“Fine, fine.” Sherlock replied, wrenching himself from his mother's grip. “Mum, this is Molly.”

“Hello dear, so nice to meet you!” Violet said excitedly, pulling Molly into an unexpected hug.

“Hello, Mrs. Holmes.” Molly said with a smile.

“No, no, call me Violet. Mrs. Holmes makes me sound ancient.”

“I've brought wine for dinner. I hope you don't mind.”

“Of course not, dear.” Violet said, taking the bottle from Molly and turning to walk toward the house. “Come along, we're only waiting for Mikey now.”

Molly shot a glance at Sherlock and mouthed the name that Violet had just uttered, amused that she was talking about Mycroft when she said it. Molly knew that he had to absolutely loath that abbreviation, and couldn't wait to watch him squirm through the whole dinner with his mother calling him that. Once inside, Molly was introduced to Sherlock's father, Alvin. His hair was of the same color as Violet's, but his eyes were a deep blue. Molly supposed that's why Sherlock's eyes did that remarkable trick where they changed between the two shades.

“It's very nice to meet you, Molly.” Alvin said, drawing her in for a hug. She obliged him and then they all went to the sitting room to wait for Mycroft to arrive. The house was modest, but beautiful at the same time. It was a lovely cottage style house, with bricks all along the outside. All the floors in the house were wood, and the decorating was done expertly. Molly couldn't help but imagine living in a place similar to this with Sherlock once they were married. Sherlock would absolutely hate living in the country, he much preferred the buzz of the city, so they would have to find some sort of compromise.

“So, Molly, I couldn't help but notice that ring on your finger.” Violet started. Molly was a bit confused at where her questioning was going, but let her continue. “I don't suppose that means that my son has finally agreed to settle down?”

Molly looked at Sherlock, a confused expression on her face. Could it be that Sherlock hadn't even told his mother that they were due to be married? The wedding was only a few weeks away, surely he'd told her about it.

“Uh...yes...about that. Molly and I are engaged to be married. Not sure how it...slipped my mind.” Sherlock muttered the last part as he looked away from his mother, and her expression got more and more upset as he continued.

“William Sherlock Scott Holmes!” Violet raged as she got to her feet, swatting him with the dish towel she had draped over her shoulder. “How could you not tell me something like this?”

“I...um...I've been busy.” Sherlock said. Molly was fighting the urge to giggle at the scene that was playing out in front of her. She'd never seen Sherlock so absolutely submissive to someone in the whole time she'd known him.

“Too busy to tell your mother you were engaged? Honestly, Sherlock, what were you thinking? Does your brother know about this?”

“Yes. I'm surprised he didn't blab it to you before we got here.” Sherlock said, regaining a bit of the arrogance Molly was used to.

“It would have been better if he had! Molly, dear, when is the wedding?” Violet's voice had been raised while she was talking to Sherlock, but when she addressed Molly her tone was instantly calm and placid again.

“In about three weeks. I can get you all the details, if you'd like.” Molly answered, somewhat timidly.

“Thank you dear, I would very much appreciate it.” She smiled and went off to tend to the dinner after shooting Sherlock another scowl. He shifted in his seat under her gaze, but quickly recovered. It wasn't too much longer before Mycroft entered the house, dressed in a brown suit with a white shirt underneath and a green tie. His ever-present umbrella was at his side, but he quickly discarded it upon entering.

“Mikey! So glad you've made it!” Violet's voice sounded from the kitchen. Mycroft rolled his eyes.

“Mycroft is the name you gave me, if you could possibly struggle all the way to the end.” He quipped as he walked down the hall toward the sitting room. He narrowed his eyes on Sherlock as he entered and sat in a chair opposite his father. “I see Mummy has learned your wonderful news, and much to your disappointment.”

“I suppose I should have known better than to try and hide it. Everyone thinks we just developed our deduction skills on our own, no one ever stops to think that we might have inherited them.” Sherlock said flatly.

“You mean your mother can do that to?” Molly asked, her eyes wide at the discovery.

“No matter how big of an ego my brother has about his deductive genius, he can't deny that our mother is the best of our family.” Mycroft said with a tight smile. “You could have at least told Molly not to wear the ring, if you didn't want her to know.”

“Yes, well, it's all out in the open now, isn't it?” Sherlock said, rolling his eyes.

“I'll expect you to be there, Mycroft.” Molly chimed in again, wondering how the eldest Holmes brother would react to her statement.

“Oh, I wouldn't miss it for the world, Miss Hooper.” He answered, the same tight smile on his face.

“Oh, good, because you'll be in it.” Sherlock said, forming a smile of his own which made Mycroft's smile turn into a frown.

“Boys, please. Don't make this wedding into some kind of competition.” Alvin chimed in from his seat. “Molly is obviously looking forward to it, and I won't let you make it a farce. If Sherlock wants you in his wedding, Mycroft, you'll do it and happily. I won't have the two of you sniping at each other while Molly is trying to have a good time. Understood?”

“Yes.” Sherlock and Mycroft said in unison. It was remarkable how much power their parents still had over them. The most powerful man in Britain and the world's only consulting detective taking orders from their mum and dad. Molly couldn't wait to tell John.

“Molly, dear, could you come in and help me set the table?” Violet's voice called from the kitchen. She looked a bit worried to be alone with Violet, but Sherlock gave her a reassuring look and she proceeded. This room was just as beautiful as the rest of the rooms in the house with its large window above the sink and a large rustic looking wooden table in the middle. Molly was handed a stack of plates when she entered the room, and she quickly got to work arranging the table.

“Thank you again for inviting us here, Violet. You have a lovely home.” Molly said, trying to make small talk as she worked on the table.

“It's my pleasure dear. I always love having the boys over, and I think it's just lovely that Sherlock has finally found someone to spend his life with. I was so worried about him for a while, he got into a fairly dark place. I'm sure he's told you about his troubles before he met you.” Violet turned suddenly serious when she began talking about Sherlock's past. Molly could only assume she was talking about the drug use that he had vaguely mentioned.

“Briefly. I didn't want to push it.”

“I was relieved when he found something to do that he really loved, that kept him away from...other things. And thank God for you, Molly, it seems you've really turned him around. He seems...more content.”

“I would hope so.” Molly smiled.

“I think you're good for him. I'm so happy he's chosen such a bright young lady, but I wouldn't have expected anything less.”

“Thank you, you're too kind.” Molly said, blushing slightly as she set out the wine glasses and finished up the table.

“Please take care of my boy, Molly. Heaven knows he needs someone to do that. I worry about him all the time, getting himself into so many dangerous situations. Just make sure that he knows he's still human. I think he forgets sometimes.” Violet's expression turned sad and there was a tone in her voice that made Molly think that the woman might start crying in front of her.

“I'll do my best. He's a handful, as I'm sure you know, but he knows when he's reached his limit. Now, let's get all those boys in here for dinner. These intoxicating smells are getting the best of me.” Molly said with a smile after she laid a hand on Violet's arm. Violet let herself smile and returned to her cheery self.

“Right. Go and fetch them.” She said and went back to put everything on the table.

After Molly called them all in, she was afraid of the topics that might come up at dinner. When Sherlock and Mycroft were in the same place for too long, they tended to snipe at each other until one of them stormed out of the room. Usually Sherlock won those arguments, but Molly was afraid that he would be looking for any reason he could to leave the dinner early.

To Molly's extreme surprise, the dinner was perfectly civilized the entire time. Mycroft and Sherlock managed to refrain from picking at each other the whole time they were at the table, and there was actually some polite conversation between the two of them. They mostly talked about the wedding and where it would be held. Violet was eager to help Molly with any planning that she might need to do beforehand, and she was thankful for that since her own mother wouldn't be able to attend. Sherlock had told Molly before they arrived that his parents wouldn't be enjoyable, but Molly quite liked both of them, and was excited to be able to call them family. Mycroft had even asked a few things about the wedding, and said that he would check his schedule to see if he could attend. Sherlock rolled his eyes at the statement, but Molly thought he was ultimately happy about what his brother had said.

“Molly, would you like to step outside with me?” Sherlock asked after the table had been cleared of all the leftovers. Molly nodded and followed him outside of the house and into a moderately sized back yard protected by a privacy fence. There was a small garden in one of the corners with a bird bath and a bench big enough for two. Sherlock lead her there and they sat together, enjoying the sound of the crickets.

“Are you feeling alright?” Molly asked as they sat in the dark, her head leaning on Sherlock's shoulder.

“That dinner was exhausting.” Sherlock replied, reaching over for Molly's left hand to examine the ring he had given her.

“Do you want to share a cigarette?” Molly asked and Sherlock drew back and looked her square in the face. It was unlikely for Molly to suggest something like that, but thinking back, that dinner had been rather stressful for her too. She was constantly on edge, waiting for one of the Holmes boys to say something that would set the other one off. She was relieved that it hadn't happened, but it took a toll on her emotional state.

“Is this a trick?” Sherlock asked, wondering if Molly was testing his will power.

“No. Just get one out, I know you have them.” She urged again as Sherlock reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled a pack of cigarettes from it. He took one out of the pack and then put it back in it's place, then dug a lighter out of the pocket of his trousers. He lit it and immediately handed it to Molly who took a deep drag and then exhaled slowly. “I had no idea how stressful it would be to watch you and your brother be kind to one another.” Sherlock laughed and took the cigarette from Molly.

“And now you know why I smoke.” Sherlock took a drag and then exhaled while Molly giggled at his side.

“Do you think Mycroft meant what he said, about the wedding?”

“He didn't say he was coming.”

“He said he would try, though. Do you really not want him there, Sherlock? He's your brother. Whatever nonsense feud you have between the two of you can be put on hold for one day, can't it?”

“I would be willing if he was.” Sherlock said, then inhaled another lungful of smoke and passed the cigarette back to Molly. She took it and did the same, satisfied with the answer that Sherlock had give her. When they had finished their cigarette, they walked back to the door and into the charming little house. Molly loved how warm it made her feel inside, like she'd known that place all her life, and she knew that she would love marrying into this family- even with all the trouble they got themselves into.

 


	17. Chapter 17

The day had finally come, Molly was going to be married to Sherlock, and that was something that she never thought would happen. She would have thought that it was all a dream except for the fact that she'd been pinching herself all morning to make sure that it wasn't. It was really happening. In an hour Molly Hooper would be Mrs. Molly Holmes, and that thought was enough to make her as giddy as a schoolgirl. Violet had been buzzing around the small cottage that they'd rented close to where the wedding would take place, it would also serve as the reception venue and the honeymoon spot. Molly hadn't seen much of a reason to rent out a venue, after all the only guests attending would be John, Lestrade, Mycroft (who had finally actually decided to come), Violet, Alvin, Fred, and Molly's friend Becca. Sherlock had been trying to get into the cottage all day to see Molly, but Violet wasn't having any of it.

“Sherlock Holmes, you go back to your flat! Molly is getting ready and I won't have you seeing her before she's walking down that aisle toward you! Now shoo!” Molly could hear violet yelling at her son, even through the closed door of the room she'd been occupying. This had been the fourth time he'd tried to gain entry to the house. After the second time they'd had to make sure all the windows were locked and the blinds closed. Once he'd tried to come in through the attic, but that had ended badly for him when he nearly fell off the roof in his attempt.

“There isn't even an aisle, we're having an outdoor wedding!” Sherlock argued back. Molly couldn't help but laugh at how hard he was trying to get in to see her, and decided to put an end to his attempts. She wrapped herself in a white dressing gown, which Violet had bought her especially for today, and walked out of the room and through the small house to the front door.

“Sherlock, why do you need to see me so badly?” Molly asked as she snuck up behind Violet to talk to her soon-to-be husband. Violet had hesitated, but decided to leave the two of them alone for a moment.

“I just wanted to tell you...” Sherlock peered around Molly's shoulder to make sure his mother wasn't around to hear what he was about to say. “I love you, and I can't wait to be able to call you my wife.”

“Sherlock...” Molly smiled and threw her arms around his shoulders, placing a small kiss on his cheek. “You aren't allowed to make me cry before the actual wedding.”

“Cry? Why would you cry? I thought that would make you happy?” Sherlock said quickly, genuinely confused about the tears that were welling in Molly's eyes.

“Happy tears, Sherlock. Now go and get ready. You've only got an hour and I won't have you late to our own wedding. Send Fred over in forty-five minutes, okay?”

“Fine.” Sherlock said, and kissed her one more time before turning to leave. Molly returned to the room where she had been before Sherlock showed up, where Violet and Becca waited to help her into her dress. Molly's wedding dress was the single most beautiful thing that she had ever laid eyes on. It was a mermaid style dress that fit her snugly, then fanned out into a poof of tulle at the bottom, with a long train that trailed behind her as she walked. There were small beads that looked like pearls sewn onto the bodice, which came together in a sweetheart neckline, perfect to frame the pearl necklace that Mrs. Hudson had give her for Christmas.

Once the dress was in place, Becca and Violet got started on her hair, which she had decided to wear down in cascading curls over her shoulders. Sherlock always liked her hair down, so she didn't see that there was any other way to wear it.

“Oh Molly,” Becca said, her hazel eyes filling with tears as she took in the finished product of her best friend as a bride. “you look beautiful.”

“Don't go crying on me Becca, you'll need to look your best. Sherlock's best friend is single, I'm sure you could make an impression.” Molly said, winking and wiping a tear away from her friend's cheek and smiling. Becca swiped a loose strand of her blonde hair out of her face and smiled back at Molly, letting her know that she was interested. Violet had just fastened Molly's veil in place, draping it over her face in the traditional manner, when they heard a knock at the front door.

“I swear, if that's my son again...” Violet said, storming out of the room and going to answer the door. “Oh, Fred, come in! Molly's all ready to go.”

“Fred!” Molly said excitedly, grabbing up her bouquet of red roses slipping on the red pumps that Sherlock adored her in, and grabbing the ring she was to give him before taking Becca by the hand and hurrying to the door. She smiled as she saw her brother, whose eyes filled with tears as soon as he saw her. He was wearing a traditional black tux, perfect for a wedding, with a single red rose pinned to the lapel of his jacket.

“Where did time go? I swear, the last time I saw you we were playing in Mum's garden, and now look at you.” Fred said, walking over to hug his sister for a moment, careful not to mess up her dress or hair.

“I wish she could be here.” Molly said, feeling a bit sad but refusing to let herself cry. They stood for a moment in silence, thinking about their parents before Fred spoke up again.

“Well, your prince charming is waiting. Are you ready?”

“Absolutely.” Molly answered, gathering up the bottom of her dress in one hand and taking Fred's arm. Violet had rushed to her seat in the field behind the house, which was decorated modestly with white tulle and a few bouquets of red roses, and watched as Becca began her journey out the back door and to the alter with John. John and Becca had been the only two people Sherlock and Molly had seen fit to put in the wedding. The both of them really only had two friends respectively, but they were more than enough to suffice. Once they had made it to the front, Fred and Molly walked out the back door of the cottage and Molly saw Sherlock smiling at the alter. She had picked an all black tux for Sherlock, where the other men wore white shirts underneath their jackets Sherlock wore a black one, which perfectly complimented the red rose he wore on his lapel. She almost started crying immediately upon seeing him, but took a deep breath and marched on. When they reached the end, Fred kissed his sister's hand and placed it into Sherlock's.

“Take care of her, Sherlock.” He said, lifting Molly's veil and placing a kiss on her cheek. Sherlock nodded and Fred turned to take a seat with Violet, Alvin, Mycroft, and Lestrade. Sherlock and Molly then turned toward Tom, the man that was about to make them husband and wife, and the ceremony started. It hadn't been very traditional, as Sherlock and Molly were both not big on religion, so a lot of things had been cut from the speech that Tom had given. Then, it was time for the vows. Molly was a bit nervous about this part, because she and Sherlock had agreed to write their own, in lieu of the religious ones that were customary for so many people.

“Now, the bride will give her vows.” Tom said, nodding toward Molly. She turned and retrieved a small piece of paper from Becca that had notes scrawled on it in nervous handwriting, just in case Molly's nerves got the better of her, then proceeded.

“Sherlock, I never thought that this day would be real. Every day that I worked in the morgue and you came in to examine a body or run experiments, I always secretly wished that you would one day come to your senses. I've been completely in love with you since the first day we met, and that was something that I never thought I would get from you. I was too shy to say anything, but as it turns out, so were you. We've been through so much together already, and I know that we can make it through anything else life throws at us. You've seen me in my darkest times, and you still loved me after everything. I guess what I'm trying to say here is...if criminal masterminds can't keep us apart, nothing will. I love you, and I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you. So, with this ring, I pledge my whole life to you. My body and soul are yours for as long as I live.” Molly's eyes had gotten a bit blurry at her words, but she managed to find the correct finger to slip the silver ring on as she finished. Then it was Sherlock's turn.

“And now the groom.”

“Molly, I have admittedly been an absolute fool. I ignored all the signs telling me that you were in love with me because I never thought that anyone _could_ love me the way you do. I'm ridiculous, I'm obnoxious, I'm rude...I'm basically everything that you are not, so how could you love me? It took something horrible to convince me that everything I saw in you was true, and I blame myself every day for not seeing it sooner. You've loved me unconditionally through everything that the world could possibly throw at us to tear us apart. From psychopaths kidnapping you to The Woman trying to convince you that I'd fallen for her, your love endured it all. I once thought that loving someone made you weak, but I know now that it makes you stronger than you could ever imagine. My love for you kept me searching when you were gone, and it keeps me sane even when I feel as though I have the world on my shoulders. Molly, I promise that I will love you and be devoted to you until my heart stops.” Sherlock finished his speech and slipped Molly's matching silver wedding band onto her finger as a tear slid down her cheek.

“With that,” Tom started, folding his hands in front of him. “I pronounce you man and wife. Sherlock, you may kiss your bride.”

Sherlock moved forward slightly and placed a hand behind Molly's head, then moved in and kissed her so gently and lovingly that Molly's eyes started overflowing with tears all over again. She could hear all their friends clapping and cheering at their union, but all she cared about was that it had actually happened. They broke their kiss after a moment and turned toward their friends, their fingers intertwined and broad smiles plastered on their faces.

“Ladies and gentlemen I give you, Mr. and Mrs. Sherlock Holmes.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The reception was everything that Molly wanted, a few close friends and family and a nice place for them to spend time together. Becca had bought a cake for the occasion, and even brought champagne and various other versions of alcohol to make the evening more fun. They'd done all the traditions, cutting the cake, toasting the couple, and John and Becca had even given speeches, and now Sherlock and Molly were about to have their first dance as man and wife. Molly had been surprised when Sherlock had insisted on this particular tradition being involved in their reception, she would have never dreamt that he would want to dance in front of people, but she was taken by surprise when he practically swept her off her feet.

“What on Earth?” She asked as they twirled around the sitting room in the cottage. “I never would have imagined that you were a good dancer.”

“I love dancing, Molly.” Sherlock said with a smile as he spun her round in front of him. “I don't get to do it often, so this was a perfect opportunity. Plus, I didn't imagine you would give up on any of the traditional events of a wedding ceremony.”

“Thank you for doing all of this. This has been the best day of my life.” Molly said quietly, pressing herself to Sherlock's chest and laying her head on his shoulder.

“I completely agree.” He said, placing a kiss on the top of her head. The dance ended when Sherlock dipped her back and placed another tender kiss on her collar bone as all their guests applauded, then they all settled down to enjoy the rest of the night, and the alcohol that Becca had brought. Becca and John had been getting along swimmingly, and were sitting rather closely on a loveseat in the corner of the room. Violet and Alvin were swaying casually in each other's arms to some song that was playing softly in the background, Lestrade was standing with Fred chatting, and Mycroft had decided to come over to offer the happy couple congratulations.

“I never thought I would see this day, baby brother.” He said as he walked slowly over to Molly and Sherlock carrying a glass of scotch.

“I'm full of surprises, Mycroft.” Sherlock said, sipping his second glass of wine for the evening.

“Molly, you make a beautiful bride. I hope you'll be happy with him, Lord knows that's a task in and of itself. If at any time you aren't, just say the word, I can make this marriage as if it never existed.”

“Thank you Mycroft, but I don't think that will be necessary.” Molly said a little uneasily.

“Yes, well, I'm afraid I must be going. I just wanted to stop over and offer my congratulations. I'm sure I'll be seeing the two of you again very soon.”

“I surely hope so, and not for business. You're welcome to come by for a visit any time.”

“Molly is obviously drunk, don't listen to anything she says.” Sherlock chimed in, trying to undo the invitation Molly had just extended to his elder brother. Mycroft only smiled and, after gathering his umbrella and putting on his coat, left the small cottage and went on his way. Molly shot Sherlock a look and then lead him over to a sofa where they could sit and sip their wine, enjoying the people that had been present for their wedding. It wasn't long before Molly was feeling rather drunk, and she could tell Sherlock was enjoying himself as well. They had drained nearly five bottles of wine between the eight of them, and were giggling and sharing stories when Molly heard the front door open and close, then footsteps trailing through the hallway that lead to the sitting room and coming up behind the sofa she and Sherlock sat on. She turned and, to her horror, saw none other than James Moriarty striding into the party.

“Hello there everyone, I hope I'm not spoiling the fun.” He said, straightening the slender black tie that matched the rest of his suit and grinning as he strode forward. Sherlock and John took defensive positions and Lestrade wasn't far behind them, springing to their feet and glaring at the man while the rest of the party, save Molly, looked utterly confused as to what was happening.

“Sherlock, who's that?” Violet asked in a concerned tone, reading the body language of her son and his friends. Molly had tensed on the sofa as well, staring bewildered at Jim as he stopped just behind the sofa, close enough to reach out and touch her. She couldn't bare to move, it was all she could do to keep breathing.

“What do you want?” Sherlock asked, ignoring his mother's question and keeping his angry gaze fixed on Moriarty.

“I only wanted to come and congratulate the two of you on your big day. So exciting, isn't it? The start of a new life together, putting that messy past behind you. And those vows,” Jim placed his right hand to his heart and looked as if he was about to cry. “they were so beautiful. How could I have ever doubted that you were supposed to be together?

“I would suggest that you take yourself out of here and never come back.” John said, every muscle in his body tensed as he uttered those words. His fists were clenched at his sides so hard that his knuckles were turning white.

“John, I only came for a visit, I promise I won't hurt anyone.” Jim said with a genuine expression, then turned his attention to Molly. She flinched at only his gaze as he rounded on her, a wicked smile playing across his lips. “You really do make a lovely bride, Molly. Just as beautiful as I imagined.”

“Don't you come near me.” Molly said, trying her hardest to sound intimidating. However, her words came out in more of a whisper than she had wanted and Jim's smile only grew wider.

“Molly, who is that?” Fred asked, rising from his seat and looking on with concern.

“Oh, you haven't told brother dear about me? I thought we had more love between us than that, Molly.” Jim said, looking hurt.

“I have _never_ loved you.” Molly spat, finding the force that she had wanted before.

“You wound me, Molly. I really thought you cared. Oh well, that will make the next step even more fun, I suppose.”

“Get to the point. Why have you come here, Moriarty?” Sherlock asked, growing tired of Jim's games. Jim turned to face him, never losing his smile.

“Just another warning, like the one from the phone call before. You're due for your fall, Sherlock. You and your new wife. Be aware of your surroundings in the coming days, you'll never know what might happen.” He said, his smile finally fading into the stern, crazed expression that Molly knew from her captivity. The memories were enough to make her flinch again.

“What makes you think we're going to let you leave?” Lestrade asked, pulling his pistol from the waistband of his trousers and pointing it at Jim. John followed suit.

“Now now, D.I. Lestrade, let's not be hasty, we wouldn't want to spoil Molly's wedding night with a murder, would we? I know that you and Doctor Watson wouldn't want her to be upset.”

“I think she would rather enjoy watching you die.” John said, tightening his grip on his pistol.

“Regardless, if you kill me then Molly will die, as well as dear old Mummy and Dad over there. I don't think anyone wants that, now do we?” Jim looked around at the astonished faces in the room. John and Sherlock looked angry, but the rest just looked terrified of the mysterious man that had walked into the cottage. Only the two of them, Lestrade and Molly even knew who he was, but everyone else seemed to understand that he was dangerous. No one answered, but Jim knew what they were thinking. “I didn't think so.”

“What do you mean I'm due for a fall?” Sherlock asked, his curiosity getting the better of him in such a serious situation.

“You'll see. All in good time. Congratulations again, on your marriage. Now I can really be sure of where your heart lies. I'll be seeing you all _very_ soon.” Jim said and, with a smile, turned and walked out of the room. John kept his pistol trained on the man until he couldn't see him anymore and only lowered it fully when he heard the door to the cottage open and close again. Molly was shaking with fear as the whole ordeal ended, Fred hurried to her side upon seeing her condition and Sherlock wasn't far behind.

“Are you alright, darling?” Sherlock's voice rang through the fog of her thoughts and brought her back to the real world. He only reserved his pet name for her for very intimate moments, but this time it served to bring her consciousness back to him. He looked into her dark brown eyes, letting her get lost in the ever-changing pools of green and blue that were currently showing a considerable amount of concern.

“I...I'm fine.” She stammered, not even convincing herself that her statement was true, then taking a deep breath to try and calm her racing heart.

“What was that about?” Alvin asked the question that everyone else wanted to know. Sherlock looked around the room at the faces of all the guests. John stood staring, raking his fingers through his hair, Becca looked terrified in her seat, Fred was desperately trying to console Molly, but everyone wanted an answer.

“That man was James Moriarty. The man that kidnapped Molly and held us all captive. We weren't able to catch him and didn't have any solid evidence of what he had done, so he's still free...for now.” Sherlock explained to the rest of the group, pacing the floor as he spoke, clearly trying to figure out some way to stop Moriarty's plan.

“He'll never stop, Sherlock.” Molly chimed in, staring at the floor as she spoke. “He's just going to keep doing this until we're both dead. He's never going to stop.” Sherlock rushed to her and sat beside her on the sofa, pulling her into his arms as she began to cry.

“I'll contact my brother. We will find a way to stop him, Molly.” He replied, trying to soothe her worries.

“Everyone keeps telling me that...”

“I'll go down to the station, see if I can't find something in the case files from before to bring him in on. There has to be something.” Lestrade said with growing concern, tucking his gun away before he continued. “We could put you all in witness protection. He wouldn't be able to find you then.”

“Do you really think so?” Sherlock's said, annoyance dripping from his voice. “We haven't had any contact with him at all, yet he found out where and when we were having our wedding. When he called Molly, he knew everything about what had happened after we got back to London. How do you expect us to believe that we'll be safe in witness protection when he was just standing in front of us? You really are an idiot.”

“Sherlock!” Violet said with astonishment, not able to believe that her son would so blatantly insult someone.

“No no, it's all right.” Lestrade started. “He's right, I don't know what I was thinking. I just want to keep you all safe.”

“It seems there may not be a way to do that. If we want to beat him, I think we're going to have to play by his rules.” John chimed in again, taking a seat beside Becca, who was still staring speechless at the hall where Moriarty had appeared.

“Quite right, John.” Sherlock agreed. “I'll need help from a lot of you, are you willing to do that?”

Everyone in the room nodded, never thinking twice about what they were agreeing to. Sherlock hadn't really expected that, but in that moment it was made perfectly clear that he couldn't have picked better friends. He had never expected any of this. Friends, a wife, people that were willing to throw themselves in front of a bullet to save him. Frankly, it was almost too much for him to handle, but he was glad that he had people that cared for him so much. Mycroft was wrong. He had always been wrong. Caring _is_ an advantage, because caring for people and having them care for you in return is the most important thing in this life. If there's no one there to care, then there's no one there to help you in your darkest hour, and Sherlock had the feeling that his was coming very soon.

Once everyone had calmed from their encounter with Moriarty, they thought it would be a good idea to let the newly married couple enjoy their first night as husband and wife. Alvin and Violet were the first to leave.

“Molly, dear, I'm so happy to be able to call you my daughter.” Violet started, pulling Molly in for a hug as they stood by the door. “Sherlock, make sure you take care of her. I won't have it said that my son is a bad husband.”

“Yes, Mum, I will.” Sherlock replied, eager to send his mother off.

“The wedding was beautiful. The two of you are welcome back at our home any time you like.” Alvin smiled as he gave Molly a quick hug and a peck on the cheek.

“Thank you. I'm sure we'll see you both again soon.” Molly smiled. Fred was next in line to leave and he shook Sherlock's hand before pulling Molly into an embrace.

“If the two of you need anything, I mean _anything,_ please don't hesitate to contact me. I want to help you in any way I can.” He said, looking directly into Molly's eyes. Molly only nodded and gave a small smile before her brother left. Becca was next and hugged Molly fiercely, clearly still shaken by what had happened. Molly knew that her friend had wanted to say something, but she only walked out of the door with her hand pressed to her mouth as if she might be sick.

“I'll take care of her, Molly.” John chimed in as he hugged her. “If anything else happens, give me a ring.”

“Thank you, John.” Sherlock said with a nod. “We'll be back in the flat tomorrow. There's a lot that needs doing.”

“I'll be there.” John replied, then walked out to help Becca. Lestrade was next, and was the only one that hadn't thought it appropriate to hug either of them.

“Let me know if there's any way I can help with anything.” He said. “And congratulations again.”

“Thank you, Greg.” Molly said with a small smile as he walked past her, closing the door behind him.

Once all the guests had left Molly changed out of her dress and into a pair of silk pajamas that Violet had gotten her that had her new initials on them, 'MEH' was sewn into the red fabric with white thread. She settled into bed and Sherlock joined her, although somewhat reluctantly, he was still pondering what might be done about Moriarty and couldn't think about anything else. Molly cuddled up to him, trying to ease his racing thoughts, placing a gentle kiss on his neck.

“I love you, Sherlock, we'll think of something to do about him.” She said, tracing little hearts on his chest as she spoke.

“I don't want to think about him anymore.” Sherlock said, suddenly rolling over to pin Molly against the bed. “I want you.”

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note here. I've been taking a while with this chapter because I feel like the ones previous haven't been of the same quality as much earlier chapters, and I apologize for that. I realize I've been rushing a little, but it's only because I don't want to disappoint any of you. So, I'll be taking a little break after this chapter to clear my head and figure out exactly what I want to do with the rest of the story. I hope you enjoy this chapter and, as always, thank you for reading and enjoying my story.

The night before had been filled with surprises, but Molly's first morning as Molly Holmes was infinitely better. Mycroft had assured her that he would speed along her request for a change of her last name, and Sherlock had informed her when she woke up that it had already been processed and Mycroft would have her new ID at Baker Street when they arrived home. They ate a quick breakfast of fruit and toast and skipped tea entirely to get back to the flat as quickly as possible, and climbed into the black car that Mycroft had sent to carry them to their destination without so much as glancing back at the cottage they'd stayed in. Under any other circumstances, Molly might have enjoyed staying there longer, but she knew it was very important that they get back to Baker Street to try and figure out what Jim was planning. The original plan was to stay there for the whole week following their wedding, but Jim Moriarty had other plans for them. The whole ride back Sherlock never said a word, he just sat fiddling with his wedding ring, spinning it on his finger, staring out the window as the country side sped past and was quickly replaced by the city. Molly placed her hand over his, trying to calm his racing thoughts, but it didn't seem to help. The most she could get from him was a half attempted smile before he went back to brooding in his seat.

Any other couple would have been blissfully happy the day after their wedding, but Molly and Sherlock were anything but. Of course, any other couple probably wouldn't have a criminal mastermind crashing their reception, so Molly supposed they were reacting well, considering. John had been waiting at the bottom of the stairs to help the newlyweds carry their luggage back up to the flat, and as soon as they got in Sherlock started pacing the floor. Molly greeted Toby with a soft pat on his head and he rubbed against her legs as if to try and make her feel better. She half expected to find Mycroft in the flat when they got there but, instead, found the ID she had been promised sitting on the kitchen table.

“There isn't anything to go on.” Sherlock said suddenly, throwing himself down on the sofa and steepling his hands under his chin. “How am I supposed to calculate his next move if he hasn't given me anything to go on?”

“I don't think he wants you to know.” John said from his chair, opening his laptop to begin research on anything he thought might give them some kind of clue.

“I don't like not knowing.” Sherlock answered, closing his eyes and retreating to his mind palace.

“What do you think he's going to do, John?” Molly asked, taking a seat in Sherlock's chair while she waited for him to snap back into the real world with some great epiphany.

“I don't know, but I think it's safe to say that it won't be good. Moriarty and Sherlock are similar, in some ways. Neither of them likes to lose. Whatever Moriarty is planning, he's sure that it will work.”

“What if we can't stop him?” Molly asked timidly. John's only reply was a sad smile. He went back to researching and Molly got up to make tea when Sherlock's mobile started dinging in his pocket. He made no move to answer it, so Molly went over, dug the phone out of his pocket, and answered for him.

“Hello?” She said, recognizing the number as one from Scotland Yard. “No no, he's...busy with something at the moment Greg, is there anything I can help you with? Oh. Yes, of course, we'll be there in a moment. Thank you.”

“What was that?” John asked inquisitively from his chair.

“They've found Sally Donovan. They're bringing her in to Scotland Yard now. Greg wants us all to be there when she arrives.” Molly answered. At that moment Sherlock's eyes snapped open and he sat bolt upright on the sofa, staring at Molly as if she'd just cracked the case.

“Let's go.” He said quickly, donning his coat and scarf and heading out the door before anyone else could even think about moving. Molly and John got their things together and rushed after him just as he hailed a cab and ushered them quickly inside.

“Sherlock, why are you in such a rush?” Molly asked, still trying to get one of her arms into her coat as Sherlock urged her inside the cab.

“Sally Donovan could have vital insight into what Moriarty is planning. She's probably been with him the whole time we've been back in London, which means she may have overheard something. While I don't expect Moriarty to have made a mistake that vital, he may have given her some bit of information that can help us. Moriarty likes to play games, so I wouldn't be surprised if he's given a slight hint as to what may be coming. He had to have a reason to hold Donovan for as long as he did, she's going to play a role in what he has planned for us. We have to find out what that is before he sets the plan into motion.” He explained, almost talking too quickly for John and Molly to keep up.

“You think she's working with him.” John said as more of a statement than a question, but Sherlock answered anyway.

“I think it's a possibility that he's threatened her into working with him.”

“Help me or you die.”

“Exactly.”

“If that's the case, all we have to do is help her. Take her somewhere that he can't find.” Molly suggested, trying to think of any way to remedy the situation.

“I think you know as well as we do that won't work.” Sherlock answered gently, although Molly could tell he was annoyed at her suggestion. He tried his best not to be cruel to her with the things he said, but sometimes his feelings permeated his words.

“What, then?”

“We just have to play along, as John suggested before. If Moriarty knows that we're onto him he'll just change the plan, make it more difficult for us to stop him. He needs to think we're oblivious. Then we might have a chance.”

“Isn't there anything we can do to help her? Just so that she isn't so frightened. I know she has to be terrified of what's going to happen. That's how I felt, anyway. I don't want her to have to go through something like that.”

“Well, she's likely gone through much worse while she's been in captivity, I'm sure she can hold out for a while longer.” Sherlock said coldly, not looking at Molly while he spoke.

“How can you say that?” Molly asked, the hurt in her voice bringing Sherlock's eyes to her face. “You wouldn't have expected me to 'hold out a while longer'. How could you be so cold?”

“Our lives are on the line here, Molly...” Sherlock started, but was cut off.

“So is hers!”

“I would sacrifice everyone in this world to make sure that your life is saved! Sally Donovan can be frightened for a little while longer if that's what it takes to make sure you're safe, and I will not be swayed in this decision. Now, you can either go along with the plan that we've established, or you can stay out of the way until we've carried it out. Either way, Molly, I really don't have time to argue with you over this.” Sherlock's voice was powerful as he spoke, almost yelling across the small distance between himself and Molly. She flinched at his words, and sat through the lecture until he had finished.

“Sherlock...” John said quietly in the way that he did when Sherlock had crossed some social boundary he didn't know existed. Molly knew that Sherlock wanted to do anything that he could to catch Moriarty, but she hated it when he got so caught up in his work that he let all of his other priorities fall away.

“I'm not any more important than anyone else in the world, Sherlock. You can't just sacrifice everyone to keep me safe. If you do that, you're no better than the monster you're fighting.” Molly said in an almost whisper as the cab pulled up outside of Scotland Yard. Sherlock got out without another word, leaving John to pay the cabby while he walked quickly into the building. Molly wanted to stop him from going through with his plan, but she knew that there was nothing she could say to convince him that it wasn't the right thing to do. She'd tried just before they left the cab and it didn't even warrant a response from him.

She and John walked into the building behind Sherlock, not even trying to keep pace with him. They were only slightly surprised when they found that he had held the lift for them and they ascended in complete silence, no one knowing what to say after the argument that had just occurred. Molly was afraid of what they might find waiting for them, what Sally might look like when they saw her again after all this time. When the doors to the lift opened, all Molly could see was a crowd of people standing outside of one of the small offices. Lestrade heard the chime of the lift and came over to greet the new arrivals.

“Is she here?” Sherlock asked.

“Just in the interrogation room. We don't want her to feel like a...suspect or anything, but that was the only place we could keep her where everyone wouldn't bombard her with questions.” Lestrade answered, a bit flustered at everything that was happening.

“Because that's my job.” Sherlock said without looking at anyone, but instead scanning around the offices. “Has she said anything?”

“No, nothing except that she's glad we've found her. It seems too clean though, Sherlock. There has to be something else going on here.”

“Yes.” Sherlock answered, then walked toward the crowd and pushed his way through to get to the door of the interrogation room. He looked through a small window in the door to see Sally sitting at the table, staring blankly off at the two way mirror and ringing her hands as if she were nervous about something. She turned her head to see Sherlock looking in the window and her eyes immediately went wide, as if she was afraid of him. Lestrade, John, and Molly got to the door just in time to hear her scream.

“No! No, you keep that lunatic out of here! Don't let him come in here with me, please! Please don't let him hurt me again!” She screamed in a panicked tone. Sherlock's brow furrowed in confusion as he observed the scene.

“What the hell is she talking about, Sherlock?” Lestrade asked more out of confusion than accusation.

“I don't know.” Sherlock answered, although he was fairly certain that he _did_ know. Everything they'd talked about in the cab on the drive over had just been confirmed for him. He hadn't done anything to hurt Sally Donovan. In fact, he hadn't even seen her since the day she decided she would just give up her life, rather than be hunted by Moriarty. He was using her somehow, Sherlock just had to figure out what he wanted. He backed away from the door so that Sally would stop her frantic screaming and looked dead at Lestrade. “Get her story. I want to know what's going on.”

“This is pretty heavy stuff, Sherlock. She's scared out of her wits in there., and all she's done is look at you through a door. Are you sure you don't know anything about this?”

“Honestly, Graham, do you really think I had anything to do with what's happened to Miss Donovan?”

“I don't know what to think. She wouldn't have that kind of reaction for no reason.” Lestrade answered, brushing off the fact that Sherlock still didn't seem to know his name.

“Moriarty is involved somehow, I know it. He's playing with her mind, with your mind. Perhaps trying to turn you against me. Perhaps trying to turn _everyone_ against me. What will happen when the media gets wind of this? Her case has been heavily covered ever since we returned to London without her.”

“You don't think...” John started in, but was cut off by Sherlock completing his sentence.

“Moriarty is trying to frame me. For everything.”

“How could he possibly get away with that? I told the police what happened.” Molly chimed in. She was still angry at Sherlock's suggestion before, but this new development helped her to push that aside for now. “I told them that Moriarty was the one that held us captive. Why would anyone believe Sally now?”

“If it came down to it, people would probably say that you have Stockholm Syndrome, Molly. It wasn't exactly a secret that you had feelings for me before we became involved, and if I had kidnapped you and forced you into...” Sherlock stopped, unable to finish his thought. “the media would just believe it. As for John, they'll probably assume he was part of the whole thing.”

“What?” John asked, a bit dumbfounded. “You think he's trying to frame both of us now?”

“No, you aren't his target, I am, and possibly Molly as well. However, I'm sure he would have no problem with you going down with us. All he wants is to make me miserable, he knows that one way of doing that is hurting Molly. He _thinks_ another way to do that is to tarnish my reputation, but he doesn't know that I couldn't care less about that.” Sherlock explained. John rolled his eyes at the last statement, unable to understand why Sherlock didn't care about his name being slandered.

“I won't stand by and watch you be dragged down with him. Besides, don't you ever think about what might happen to Molly if you're labeled a criminal?”

“What does that have to do with Molly?”

“She's your wife now, Sherlock. She married you of her own free will. If the media believes what you say they'll believe, everyone will think Molly is insane right along with you. Who knows what people will say to her, what they'll try to do. If you get arrested for this whole mess with Sally, Molly is likely to go down with you.”

“Oh, that's why Molly is leaving London.” Sherlock said shortly.

“What?” Molly asked, confusion plain in her features.

“John is right. You're not safe here, and you won't be as long as you remain in London.” Sherlock said, pulling his mobile out of his pocket. “I'll call Mycroft and tell him to arrange a flight out of the country and a place for you and your brother to stay until everything is sorted.”

“You'll do no such thing!”

“This isn't really up for discussion, Molly.”

“You can't just send me off across the world on a whim and expect me to comply!” Molly shouted, not even trying to keep her voice down as to not make a scene in front of all of Scotland Yard.

“I don't expect you to be happy about it, but it's for your own good.”

“William Sherlock Scott Holmes,” Molly's fury was growing at a rate that she couldn't control. She found herself mimicking his mother before she could even process what was happening. “You are not going to send me away because of this. I am your wife, and that means that I'm here for you no matter what happens. Didn't you listen to my vows to you? I've waited too long to be with you, and I'm not going to let you send me off when you need my support the most. If something big is coming, I'm going to be here with you when it does. You're not getting rid of me that easily.”

“Why can't you just understand? I'm trying to protect you. If you stay here, you'll be in danger. I can't focus on trying to stop Moriarty if I have to worry about you staying out of trouble. I need to be alone. Alone protects me.” Sherlock had a pleading tone to his voice now, as if he was trying to find the words to make her go, but couldn't.

“You mean you can't recklessly chase after a mad man and endanger yourself if you have to worry about me being here to see you throw your life away? You told me that you would do anything to keep me safe on the way here, and I'm sure that means sacrificing yourself. If I'm not here, how am I supposed to stop you from doing that? Alone doesn't protect you, Sherlock. Being alone means that there's no one there to help you when you've fallen. You need me here just as much as you need John and Lestrade, and I'll be damned if you think you can send me away at a time like this.” Molly said, never breaking eye contact with Sherlock. John and Lestrade, along with the rest of Scotland Yard, just stood by, not even trying to pretend that they weren't listening.

“You aren't supposed to stop me from doing something like that. If that's what it takes to make sure that you live, I'm more than happy to do it. I just don't want you to be in danger anymore.” He said, finally admitting what Molly had been trying to get out of him the whole time. She knew that he had some kind of plan to stop Moriarty, but he wasn't letting on. Sherlock always thought that no one could read him, but Molly had learned how to tell what he was thinking over the time she'd spent with him. It was never easy to figure out, but with enough prodding she could always get it out of him.

“Did you ever stop to think that I wouldn't want to live in a world without you in it? We just got married, Sherlock, you can't throw your life away now. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and that requires you being alive.”

Sherlock looked thoughtful for a moment, letting his eyes scan Molly and the people around him. He could tell that everyone was uncomfortable at the situation, and he couldn't say that he was exactly happy with it. Molly just stared at him, with those big doe-eyes that he could never resist. He knew that she desperately wanted him to change his plan, but he didn't see any other way. If he wanted to bring down Moriarty, things were going to get dangerous, and he didn't want her involved in something like that again. But those eyes. He couldn't deny them a single thing.

“Lestrade, see what you can get out of Sally. We'll sit on the other side of the mirror to listen.” He said, pushing the conversation he'd just had out of his mind and getting back to business. He knew Molly wasn't happy that she hadn't gotten a reply, but he would take care of that later. Right now, the only thing that mattered was what Sally Donovan had to say. Lestrade nodded and headed into the interrogation room while Sherlock, John, and Molly took their places in the room on the other side of the mirror.

From inside the room they could see everything that was happening in interrogation. They watched Sally fidget and squirm in her seat while Lestrade sat opposite her, not sure where to start his line of questioning. He gave her a sad smile, as if to say that everything would be okay, and then began.

“What happened, Sally, after you left our group in the woods and went back?” He asked, trying to be as delicate as he could.

“I went back to where he dropped us off. I wasn't expecting to live once he found me. Sherlock had me convinced that James was a bad man. He had everyone convinced.” Sally said in a shaky voice, her hands still wringing on the table top as she spoke. “But when James showed up...he was concerned. He wanted to help me. He said that...that Sherlock put him up to everything. That it was some kind of experiment. James told me that Sherlock threatened to kill him if he didn't help.”

“Why would Sherlock do something like that? I mean, James Moriarty shot Sherlock when he came to try and rescue Molly. You were with us that day. He was holding her captive. Why would Sherlock tell Moriarty to shoot him?”

“It had to be believable.” Sally's eyes darted around the room as if she was scared, never making eye contact with Lestrade for more than a second. “He had to make everyone believe that James was the one that was doing it. Sherlock just wanted Molly. How else could he convince anyone to be with him. He has her wrapped right around his finger, and the poor girl doesn't even know it. I wish I could tell her.”

“Sally, listen to yourself. This doesn't make any sense. You know Molly has always loved Sherlock, why would he need to do something like this to convince her to be with him? Why would he pay another man to rape and torture the woman he wanted to be with?”

“Because he's a sick man, Greg. Sherlock Holmes can't think of anything or anyone but himself. He wanted Molly to love him so badly that he had to set up a scenario in which he could be the hero.”

“I don't think Molly needed much convincing, and I really don't think that Sherlock would do something like this.” Lestrade argued, trying to get Sally to come around.

“Why not? He's a psychopath, Greg. You've seen him at crime scenes, he practically gets off on examining dead bodies. How can it be so hard for you to believe that he's capable of doing all these horrible things?” Sally asked, then looked down at her fiddling thumbs. Lestrade just sat staring, not able to come up with a reply.

On the other side of the mirror, Molly felt as if she might be sick. Hearing Sally's accusations against her husband made her stomach turn. How could anyone think something so horrible of such a wonderful man? Of course Sherlock has his imperfections, everyone does, but that doesn't mean that he could turn into a killer at the drop of a hat. John picked up on Molly's current mood and placed a hand on her shoulder in a comforting notion, since her husband was currently too absorbed in the scene laid in front of them to notice that Molly was having a hard time listening to it.

“The bottom line is this,” Sally's voice came from the interrogation room. “Sherlock Holmes is a monster. He paid James to hurt Molly Hooper. He even went as far as paying him to put a bullet in his shoulder! All for his own follies, so that he could be the hero and get the girl. He needs to be stopped, Greg, before he can do this to someone else.”

“What are we going to do now?” John asked after Lestrade had left the interrogation room.

“I would assume we should probably leave this building rather quickly. Who knows how many of the lovely officers outside believe Donovan's story, probably too many for our liking. I would rather not be held here while there's so much work to be done. We need to get back to Baker Street immediately.” Sherlock stood and looked at Molly for a moment then turned his head back toward the door. “Molly, I think you should go and stay with Fred. I know you want to help me, but I need you out of harm's way. Mycroft is on his way to take you there.”

“Sherlock!” Molly began to yell, but he was already out the door before the word left her lips.

“I'll try to talk him round, Molly. He's not used to dealing with things like this. I think you should go along with hit, just until I can convince him otherwise. You really are in danger.” John tried to remedy the situation, but Molly wasn't having any of that.

“When Jim finds me at Fred's and kills us both, how do you think Sherlock will feel then?” Molly yelled, glaring daggers at John. Her anger wasn't directed at him at all, but it was hard to keep herself from lashing out at everyone and everything in the way, at the moment. She stormed out of the room and to the lift where all of Scotland Yard stared at her while she waited for the doors to open and carry her to the ground floor. Sherlock was nowhere to be found, and probably on purpose. He didn't want to be talked out of the decision he'd just made, and if anyone could do that it would be Molly. She was about to hail a cab to take her back to Baker Street when a large man wearing a black suit grabbed her by the arm.

“Who the hell are you?” She asked with more confidence than she knew she was capable of.

“Mr. Holmes has instructed me to take you to your brother's home for safe keeping.” The man said in a deep baritone.

“I'm not a bloody item that needs to be kept safe!” Molly shouted, trying to wrench free. “Get your hands off me!”

“I'm afraid I must insist, Mrs. Holmes.” The man said, seizing her more forcefully and stuffing her into a black car then closing the door securely. She struggled against the door, but the child locks had been set and she was unable to open it from the inside. There was a thick, glass wall between the front and back seats, with a curtain pulled closed for privacy. It was only after she'd stopped struggling to open the door and turned that she could see she wasn't in the car alone.

“Hello, Mrs. Holmes. Are you ready to play the game now?”

 


	19. Chapter 19

“Sherlock, just try to be reasonable.” John complained as Sherlock paced around the sitting room of 221B. “Molly doesn't want you to have to do this alone. She's worried about you.”

“I'm not alone, John, you're here to help me. Molly is in danger here, it only makes sense that I send her away.” Sherlock replied, growing tired of having the same argument over and over again. His decision to send Molly away _had_ been the best thing for her. Being far away from him and his feud with the most dangerous criminal in all of London would keep her away from harm, and that was exactly what he needed. He had to be able to fully focus on Moriarty or he wouldn't be able to get rid of him.

“And you really think she's safer somewhere else? Sherlock, Moriarty will find her, he will _always_ find her. He found her on your wedding day, and he found her when you brought her here to try and keep her safe. There's nowhere you can send her that's any safer than your immediate company.”

“John, you don't understand. I need her to be somewhere else.” Sherlock said in exasperation, not wanting to fully explain his plan. However, John was beginning to catch on to things much more quickly, in only the way someone who spends all of their time with a master of deduction could. Sherlock could almost see the switch in John's head flip at the realization of what was going on. John closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, then exhaled and looked directly at Sherlock.

“Please don't tell me that you've used your wife as bait to find a murderous psychopath!”

“She wouldn't be opposed.” Sherlock admitted, but only because John had guessed correctly. Molly wanted to help in any way that she could, she'd made that blatantly obvious, but going on with the facade of not having a clue what Moriarty was trying to do meant Sherlock had to keep everyone in the dark about his plan. The look on John's face could have turned Sherlock to stone.

“What the hell were you thinking? You've just put your wife in the hands of, possibly, the most dangerous man in the world! How are you going to get her back? You know that he wants to keep her for himself!”

“I have a plan.” Sherlock said calmly, trying to pacify John's rage.

“Oh, please, tell me your great plan!” John sat himself down in his chair and tried to lower his blood pressure as Sherlock started to explain.

“Now I can arrange a meeting with him.” He said, watching John as he listened, hoping that he would understand. “If he thinks I'm willing to do anything to get Molly back, at the very least, he'll want me to witness whatever he has planned for her. Letting him know of my love for Molly is very dangerous in itself, and as you said, he wants her for himself. The only thing that would hurt me more than watching him kill her is him killing me while I know he has her. The last thought in my mind being of what horrible things he might do to her if I can't stop him.”

“Then how on Earth are you keeping it together _now_ knowing that. What if he doesn't agree to a meeting?” John asked, his eyes wide, trying to understand what Sherlock was thinking.

“He will.” Sherlock said with confidence just as his mobile buzzed with a message. He checked it to see that the number was blocked and opened the message, when he turned it around, John was astonished at what he saw. There was a picture of Molly and Moriarty on the screen, Jim arm stretched out to get both of them in the frame, with a message that read 'time and place'. Molly looked absolutely terrified in the photo, obviously oblivious to everything that Sherlock had in mind.

“Sherlock, she's scared to death.” John said in possibly the saddest tone Sherlock had ever heard. He looked at the screen and felt a pang or regret rush through him. She did look terrified, and she possibly might never forgive him for what he'd done. He only hoped that she would understand that he'd only done it to keep her from being in danger again.

“She won't have to be for much longer.” He said as he typed out his message to Moriarty.

 

_St. Bart's Hospital. Roof top._

_SH_

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“Molly Molly, why did you go off by yourself?” Jim asked, his arm draped over her shoulder, the fingers of his right hand trailing over her skin with such a light touch that it sent shivers down her spine. How could this happen again? How did he always manage to find her? She didn't look at him, didn't speak when he asked her questions, she only wrung her hands in her lap and stared out the window. “Giving me the cold shoulder I see. It doesn't matter, I'll have you talking in no time.”

She didn't want to think about what that might mean. Did he think she had some information on what Sherlock was planning for him? The only thing she really knew is that her husband was adamant about getting her out of harm's way, and clearly Jim had known that too. He swooped in so quickly that Sherlock didn't even have enough time to send her to her brother's house for safe keeping.

“It was quite clumsy of you to stumble right into my arms, Mrs. Holmes.” Jim said again, the sinister tone that Molly remembered so well floating through the air and threatening to squeeze all of the oxygen out of the car. “Really you've given me the upper hand on your husband now. We both know what lengths he's willing to go to in order to be sure you're safe. He took a bullet for you the last time.”

“I'm sure you feel really good about yourself now.” Molly said, still fuming from her argument with Sherlock and her hatred toward the man that was sitting with her in the car. She wanted to wrench his arm off of her shoulders and push him as far away from her as she could, but she knew what happened when she tried things like that. They always ended up coming back to bite her, usually in the form of a blow to the jaw, when she was in the company of James Moriarty.

“I feel glad to have you back in my company, Miss Molly.” He answered with a smile, using the pet name he'd given her during her time with him.

“I regret to inform you that the feeling isn't mutual.”

“Well, it doesn't matter, my plan will come together soon enough.” Jim said, pulling his mobile from his jacket and reading a text message that had just come in. “Perhaps sooner than I'd anticipated.” He pulled the curtain open that separated him from the driver and opened the window. “St. Bartholomew's Hospital please, and do hurry, I've got someone waiting there.”

“It's Sherlock, isn't it?” Molly asked, already knowing the answer. Of course he would just come to find her, no matter the danger. Jim wanted to kill him, and he didn't even care.

“What makes you say that?”

“You wouldn't have that stupid smirk on your face if it wasn't.”

“You have gotten feisty since you've been married. Must be a lot of fun for Sherlock. If only you'd shown me this side before, you would have enjoyed yourself so much more.” Jim said, turning Molly's face toward his while he spoke, fixing it in place with a hard grip. “But don't worry, we'll have plenty of time for that after I take care of pesky old Sherlock. We'll have the rest of our lives, so you might as well learn to enjoy it.”

“What are you talking about?” Molly asked, trying to keep her tough exterior. He was beginning to worry her, but she couldn't let him see that.

“We're meeting on the roof top, which is convenient, because what I have planned requires a tall building.”

“What are you going to do to him?” Molly asked, feeling a knot forming in her stomach. Could it really be that Jim actually had the upper hand? Sherlock had talked about her being a distraction before, but surely he wouldn't let her distract him so much that he didn't see a threat to his life. Then again, she could see what he meant. She would do absolutely anything for Sherlock. She would easily give up her life for him if she had to, just to make sure he kept breathing.

“Well, it would ruin all the fun if I told you now. Besides, I can't be sure you don't have some kind of recording device going. I'm not completely stupid, I am aware of the possibility of this being a trap.”

“Sherlock was sending me to my brother's house, he doesn't have any idea that you've got me, or at least he didn't before you sent him those messages.” Molly said, letting Jim know that she'd picked up on that little detail.

“Oh, I applaud your observation.” Jim said in a sarcastic tone. “Just because you don't know that it's a trap doesn't mean it's not _still_ a trap.”

“If Sherlock had a plan, he would tell me.” Molly said defiantly.

“I wouldn't be so sure. I know you're newlyweds and all, but I believe Mr. Holmes is hiding something from his Missus.”

“You're wrong.” Molly snapped, suddenly shoving him away from her in the cramped back seat of the car. He was lying, she knew it, and she couldn't stand his arm around her any more. “You might think you know what love feels like because you _think_ you love me, but you have no idea if you think that Sherlock would use me like that.”

“We'll just have to find out, won't we?” Jim asked with a grin, ignoring her hostility for the time being. He sat back in his seat and never said another word until they got to Bart's.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Sherlock had been trying to shake John Watson since he'd told him what he'd done, but no matter what he said, no matter how rude he was, John would not leave him be. He needed time to think about all the possibilities of what might happen on the roof. He needed to plan, and John was making it extremely hard to do so.

“I need to go out.” He finally said, after he'd sat in his chair listening to John's mutterings about morality.

“Great, me too, where are we going?” John asked in the way he did when he was irritated. Sherlock wondered if John and Molly would both be cross with him after the meeting was over.

“You can't come it's...personal.”

“Oh, really, well what's so personal that your best friend can't know what you're doing?”

“I'm...shopping.”

“You don't shop.” John rebutted, popping the 'P' at the end of his last word.

“John, please, just leave me be for a little while.” Sherlock practically pleaded.

“Why, so you can scheme about more ways to use your wife as bait for a BLOODY PSYCHOPATH?”

“No, so that I can scheme about ways to remove said psychopath from the free world.”

“Why can't you do that with me here?”

“Because of your incessant muttering. Honestly, John, how am I supposed to think with your constant talking?”

“Are you serious right now?” John asked with a blank expression.

“Completely, should I not be?” Sherlock asked in confusion.

“Any other time, literally _any_ other time, you would completely block me out and not speak for hours. Now you're saying you can't do that because I'm talking?”

“Any other time the case doesn't involve my wife. I have several...emotions pulsing through my system, which makes it hard enough to control my concentration, but your jabbering makes it impossible. I need to be able to think, John. If something happens to Molly because of what I've done, I'll never forgive myself.” Sherlock said quickly, almost in one breath. He'd been terrified of enacting this plan from the very beginning, but he didn't seem to have many options. He didn't normally go into something like this so unprepared, either, but it had to be a snap decision.

“Fine, I'll stop talking if you'll stay and let me be involved with the plan.” John agreed after Sherlock's confession. He had been trying to make Sherlock feel bad about what he'd done, after all, and it seemed to have worked. Whether Molly would forgive him so easily was out of John's control.

“Fine. I've devised a series of different plans dependent on the decisions that Moriarty makes after I get to the rooftop. It's impossible to tell you all of them on the ride to Bart's so I'll only be explaining a few.” Sherlock said as he gathered his coat and scarf and flung them on quickly, tossing John's coat to him before opening the door to the stairwell.

“You're sure you've covered every possibility?” John asked, pulling on his coat and following Sherlock out the door of the flat and down the stairs.

“I can't be completely sure about anything with this case. It seems every time I think I have him figured out, he goes in a completely different direction. We'll just have to see what happens. I will do everything in my power to keep anything bad from happening to Molly.”

“Everyone said that there was no hope for you, Sherlock, but I think they'd be surprised if they could see you now.” John suddenly said as they walked out onto the curb to flag down a taxi.

“What do you mean?”

“No one thought that you even had feelings until Molly came along. Seems like Molly has taught you something about life, that's all.”

“Don't be ridiculous, John, everyone has feelings. Some just choose not to show them for one reason or another. I suppose Molly did teach me something about myself. She taught me that alone is most certainly not what protects people, it's the ones that love them.” Sherlock said. He was honestly a little surprised that he was allowing himself to speak so freely about this sort of thing, but he also knew that John Watson was completely right. As the cab pulled up to allow them entry, Sherlock had a new determination for what lay ahead of him, and when Molly was safely in his arms he was going to make sure that no one could ever hurt her again.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

She'd never been to the rooftop of Bart's, but she didn't really like it up there. Perhaps it was because she knew that Jim had something horrible planned for Sherlock once they were all together, or perhaps she thought it would be too tempting to shove that horrible man off of the side when he wasn't looking. They'd only been sitting there together for a few minutes before the rooftop access door opened and Sherlock came striding onto the roof with them.

“At last, Sherlock, here we are. You and me and our little problem.” Moriarty said calmly, making a small gesture toward Molly. “All my life I've been searching for distractions. Molly was one, for a while, until you had to come along and ruin it. Even you were a distraction for a time, but then you started digging. You couldn't just leave well enough alone, could you?”

“You've hurt people, even killed them. Why would I let something like that go?” Sherlock asked, his hands clasped behind his back. He allowed himself a short glance at Molly, just to find out if she'd been hurt. Everything looked in order, so he put all his attention back on Moriarty.

“Come now, Sherlock, I was just trying to have a little fun. You know how boring _ordinary_ life can be. I have all this knowledge up here,” Moriarty said, gesturing to his head. “why would I let it all go to waste. What I do is for the greater good.”

“Good for yourself.”

“Well, yes, that would be the point, wouldn't it?”

“I know that what you want is me, you want to _burn_ me, right? You've got me now, so let Molly go.” Sherlock said, changing the subject to what he really wanted to talk about. She was so close, but so far away. So close that he could walk to her in just a few steps, he could reach out and touch her, but there was one thing stopping all that from happening. Moriarty was still alive, still holding her over his head like some prize waiting to be won.

“Oh Sherlock, I told you before that hurting you involved hurting the ones that you love. If I hurt Molly, you'll suffer more than if I just killed you here.” Moriarty said, pulling Molly closer to him and caressing her cheek with the back of his hand. “But I won't stop there.” He suddenly smiled and pulled his hand back, bringing it down with force on Molly's face. Her head turned with the force of the contact and she fell to her knees with a whimper.

“Molly.” Sherlock said, worry in his voice, as he took a step forward, but he stopped when he realized that Moriarty now held a pistol pointed toward her.

“Back away, Sherlock, we've still got a while before we get to the fun part.”

“Fine, I'll step back.” Sherlock answered, his hands in front of his chest in surrender. He backed away a few steps, just far enough so that Moriarty lowered the gun. “Please, I'll do anything you ask, just spare Molly.”

“There's a bit of a wager I'd like to work out first. A deal, if you will.” Moriarty took a step toward Molly and grabbed her by the hair, wrenching her to a standing position again. Her nose was bloody and her braid was beginning to fray as her captor used it to yank her from place to place. Sherlock's heart broke at the sight of it. He'd put her there, and now she was being abused because of him. He only hoped that his emotions didn't play across his face as well as they were playing in his mind.

“What do you want?” He asked, lowering his hands and clasping them behind his back again.

“Let me start out by saying that, if you don't go along with this _precisely_ the way I tell you to, your wife and Doctor Watson, and all the little piggies at Scotland Yard will be brutally murdered, regardless of your efforts here. Is that clear?”

“Sherlock, don't do it!” Molly said, her voice shaking but full of power. “Don't you let him win.”

“Molly dear, be a doll and mind your tongue before I'm forced to break your jaw to keep you from speaking.” Moriarty hissed, his fury showing plainly in his eyes at the interruption. Molly tried to shy away, but he kept a firm hold on her braid, yanking hard at her sensitive scalp if she did something he didn't like. Sherlock visibly tensed at every sign of pain on Molly's face, wanting desperately to pry her from the hands of his nemesis.

“Fine, tell me.” Sherlock said, trying to stop any further abuse.

“Well, the problem here is that both of us can't keep living. It's simple really. One of us has to get the fame, the life we've always wanted, and one of us has to die.”

“And I suppose the one you're speaking of isn't me.”

“Oh, you'd be correct about that.” Moriarty said with a smile. “I'm tired of this game now, Sherlock, I've won, and you're boring.”

“What would you have me do?” Sherlock asked, his face placid, preparing himself for what Moriarty would say. He'd told John that he had scenarios for nearly every idea that could pop into Moriarty's head, he only hoped that he knew his rival as well as he thought he did.

“I've got assassins on every one of your friends. John Watson, Mrs. Hudson, Gregory Lestrade. They'll all die, including Molly here, if you don't do as I say.”

“I believe we've gotten past that part.” Sherlock scoffed, hoping to catch Moriarty off guard, but the man was just as seemingly unaffected by that jab as anything else Sherlock had said to him.

“I can't kill any of them myself, including you, which brings me to the most important part. You have to kill yourself. Good thing you picked a tall building.”

“Why does it matter if I kill myself?”

“Well, if you don't my story doesn't fit. See, I didn't just hit Molly because she was a disrespectful little cunt, but I also hit her for the sake of the plan. London's hero, Sherlock Holmes, murders wife, then takes his own life. You didn't think I would let you get out of this without harming your reputation?”

“So this all goes back to that. Framing me for the entire ordeal, once again. You want people to think that I was the one that kidnapped Molly, that held Donovan for so long, and tortured her.”

“Well, yes, that is the reason I let her go. It took a long time to get that idea to really take root in her mind. It surprised me just how much torture that woman was willing to go through before she decided to come over to my side. Of course, there was the incentive of her release if she played along. I really thought I was going to have to kill her.”

“You've gone to such great lengths...and you still won't let Molly go.” Sherlock said, letting a bit of sadness slip into his tone.

“Obviously not. Your whole plan was to use her to draw me here, I couldn't just let you get away with that? You thought you could trade yourself for her, that she would keep living? Oh, Sherlock, I thought you'd gotten a bit dull, but I never imagined you would think that would actually work. No, I'm going to kill your darling wife, rather slowly, in front of you. And when that's done, and you don't have a reason to live any more, I'll watch you take your own life and go on my merry way. Nothing will make me happier than to watch you be torn down like that, my friend.”

“I never wanted this to happen.” Sherlock said, letting his gaze fall on Molly, who was looking quite confused, and possibly a bit hurt, by what Moriarty had just said.

“Of course not!”Moriarty exclaimed. “That's exactly why it has to happen. This is meant to destroy you, or had you forgotten?”

“Sherlock...please tell me he was lying to me.” Molly said, hoping it wouldn't earn another backhand. “He said that when we were on the way here, and now he's saying it again. Please tell me he's lying.”

“I was sure that I'd be able to save you. I never thought that this would happen.” Sherlock felt a catch in his throat as he fought tears from forming in his eyes. “It was the only way we could be happy. The only way that we would never have to worry about him again. Bringing him here and disposing of him was the only thing I could think of.”

“My, how the tables have turned.” Moriarty said with a grin, pointing the gun at Molly's temple. The cool metal was flush against her skin, his finger on the trigger. She flinched away from the barrel, instantly panicking at the sensation of a weapon pressed against her skull.

“No, please! I'll do anything you want! I'll jump off the roof, I'll shoot myself in the head. I'll give you any gruesome death that you would like to see me have, just let Molly go in peace. Don't maker her suffer because of me.” Sherlock pleaded, raising his hands and gazing longingly at his wife. She was crying now, letting Moriarty manhandle her, drag her around by her hair. She couldn't believe that what he'd told her was true. Her husband had put her in harm's way because of a personal vendetta against Jim. She wanted to scream, to slap Sherlock across the face and run as far away as she could, but instead she was going to die. When she married Sherlock she'd never been happier, but now she was afraid that she'd made the wrong choice in that instance.

“You misunderstand me.” Moriarty started. “I don't want to make her miserable for the rest of her sad little life. This betrayal would likely kill her regardless. I might as well go ahead and end it now, before she does.”

“I'll do anything you want. Just please, allow Molly and I a moment of privacy.” Sherlock finally submitted watching the several emotions that played across his opponents face. He was surprised when Moriarty actually agreed to his request and stepped away. “Molly, please believe me when I say that this was supposed to be different. I just wanted to make sure you were safe.”

“Sherlock, how could you?” Molly asked looking up at him, her face tear stained and eyes bloodshot as the loose strands of her braid blew in the wind. “You used me as bait for a psychopath.

“I never imagined that this would happen. I know you can't forgive me, but please, just ensure me that your feelings for me haven't changed.”

“I will always love you, Sherlock. I just don't know why I let myself believe that you'd changed.” Molly said softly. He words hurt him more than she probably knew. “I thought that you were past things like this, using other people for your own benefit.”

“It's not for me, Molly. Can't you see, I'm trying to keep him from hurting you again.”

“It doesn't look like that worked out.” Molly said flatly, wiping the blood from the blow to her face that Moriarty delivered away with her sleeve.

“Please just trust me. You won't be hurt any more. I promise.”

“If you say you have a plan, I trust you. If we both somehow get out of this alive, though, we're going to have a serious talk.”

“Alright, love birds, enough chit chat, time to get on with it.” Moriarty said as he made his way back to Molly and Sherlock. Molly's breathing was ragged, she was waiting for the worst, but Sherlock wouldn't let that happen.

“Of course,” Sherlock chimed in, turning to face his enemy. “there is just one more thing, though.”

“Oh please, what is it now?”

“You've overlooked something. As long as you're alive, I have a way to call off the assassination of my friends.”

“Sherlock, your brother and all the Queen's men couldn't get me to say a thing I don't want to. What makes you think you can do any better?”

“If I die before you hurt Molly, you don't have any reason to go through with your plan. I will have just killed myself, presumably to the media because of the accusations placed against me. The only reason for Molly to turn up dead would be that someone else had killed her.” Sherlock explained as he fiddled with his mobile.

“That is a very fair point, isn't it?” Moriarty asked, looking thoughtful. Suddenly, he grabbed Molly by her hair again, yanking her away from Sherlock and, once again, pressing the gun to her head. She closed her eyes, preparing herself for what was about to happen, closing herself off from the rest of the world, just waiting to hear that gunshot. Or would she even hear it? Would her demise be so quick that the sound wouldn't even reach her before she was gone? She knew that Sherlock was saying something, but she couldn't hear what it was, she couldn't focus on anything but the impending doom that was hovering over her head. Finally, she heard a gunshot. It rang so loud through her ears that it snapped her away from her thoughts. Her eyes flew open, upon realizing that she hadn't been injured, and immediately searched for Sherlock. She looked behind her to find Jim bleeding out on the roof top, a single gunshot to his forehead, then she spun around to find her husband. It didn't take much searching before she found him standing on the ledge of the building, a gun in his hand.

“Sherlock! What are you doing?” She asked, panic in her voice, searching for an answer to what had just happened.

“Molly, do something for me, please.” He answered, looking back at her as he stood so close to the edge.

“Sherlock, please come back here where it's safe.”

“Let them all believe that I was a murderer.”

“What are you talking about? Please, come back here with me. Just talk to me about what's happening.” Molly pleaded as she realized the severity of what might be happening. “Please, Sherlock.”

“Don't forget for a second that I loved you until my last breath.” Sherlock said as he turned to look at the ground below him.

“What are you doing?” Molly asked, taking a step forward before she faintly heard a muffled “Goodbye, love.” and watched as Sherlock stepped off of the ledge and disappeared.

“Sherlock!” She screamed, reaching out for him, as if that would have helped anything from where she stood. She rushed to the side of the building, afraid at what she would find at the bottom. When she looked over she saw him, lying in a growing pool of blood, limbs twisted in unnatural positions. Her hand flew to her mouth, her eyes filling with tears, as she realized what had just happened. She sunk to her knees, clutching the ledge of the building so tightly that her knuckles turned white. It hit her like a tidal wave, the grief washing over her, filling her with regret at what she'd said to him just moments before. She felt like she would be sick, knowing that Sherlock had died believing that she might leave him. Maybe that had made what he'd done easier for him, knowing that he wouldn't be leaving her to grieve him. The truth was, however, that she felt completely responsible. The door to the roof swung open what seemed like hours after she'd gone to the ledge. She turned to see DI Lestrade and John walking toward her. Lestrade went to inspect the body of Moriarty while John made his way to Molly, his face reflecting the very same emotion she'd been feeling. He helped her to her feet and immediately pulled her into a strong embrace.

“He did it to save me, John.” She managed to choke out between sobs. “He killed Moriarty because I was going to die if he didn't.”

“Shh, Molly, quiet now. There will be time for that later. We need to get you down stairs to be examined.” John said with the same amount of pain in his voice. He tried to hide what he was feeling, but Molly could see through his facade. His voice shook as he continued. “You're injured, look, let's get you some help.”

“Fine,” Molly agreed, pulling away slightly. “but you're staying with me. We need to be together right now.”

“Of course, Molly. I won't leave you.”

 


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the last chapter. It's a short one, but I think I'm happy with the ending, and I hope you all will be too. Thanks for sticking with me and reading to the end, I appreciate everyone's kind comments and hope that you'll keep coming back to read my other stories. I hope you enjoy the final chapter!

Molly tried to keep herself composed on their walk to the examination room, but her efforts proved fruitless. All she could do was think about what Sherlock had said to her before he'd stepped off the ledge. He wanted everyone to think he was horrible, but he also wanted Molly to remember that he loved her. They seemed like strange last requests, when she thought about them, but she couldn't say that her mind was too clear at the moment. Anything would have been strange to her in her grief stricken state. Clearly John didn't have a clue what had happened either, or why Sherlock had done what he'd done. Perhaps after he killed Moriarty, Sherlock thought that it would be better for him to be dead than in prison. Surely Lestrade wouldn't have taken him to prison for protecting Molly, though, that seemed like a stretch.

She tried to clear her head as a doctor came in to check her nose, making sure that nothing was broken and that all of her facial bones were in tact. Moriarty had hit her very hard, but she was sure that nothing was broken or badly damaged. At the most she would have a nasty bruise for a few days, but she didn't really care. Her mind was racing, trying to comprehend what had just happened.

“It looks like you'll be just fine, Mrs. Holmes.” The doctor, whose name she'd neglected to get, said just before he left the room, leaving John and Molly alone in silence.

“What do we do now?” Molly asked, looking up at John with freshly formed tears in her eyes.

“We go home and try our best to get through this.” He answered, offering a hand to Molly and helping her off of the examination table. They left the hospital, not saying a word as they called a cab and climbed into it. The only words that were spoken once they were inside were “221 B, Baker Street.” as John told the cabbie where to take them. The ride seemed uncharacteristically short, although Molly was sure it was just because she kept thinking about what had happened, and they climbed out of the cab and went into the building, climbing the stairs to the flat before anything else was said.

“Why did he do it?” Molly asked quietly, staring at the chair in the sitting room that Sherlock favored. “He'd already taken care of Jim, why did he have to jump off the bloody building?”

“I...I don't know.” John said quietly, leaning against the closed door to the flat. The room was quiet as they thought to themselves, both trying to come up with some theory, and both failing miserably in their efforts. They only noticed the other person standing in a dark corner of the room when they began to speak.

“If you must know, I did it to keep you safe, John.” The figure said as it stepped into the light to reveal that it was, in fact, Sherlock. They were both stunned. They'd just seen his bloodied corpse on the street in front of St. Bart's and now he was standing in their flat. John flipped another light on in the room, as if he thought the shadows were playing tricks on him. He blinked rapidly as Molly walked slowly up to her husband, the man she thought she would never see again. She reached up to his face, gently trailing her fingers from temple to chin, as if to make sure he was real, before she drew back and landed a hard slap.

“Sherlock Holmes, how dare you do that to us!” She yelled through the flat. Sherlock was fairly certain she would have everyone on the street calling Scotland Yard before it was over. “You made us believe you were dead!”

“Only for about an hour.” Sherlock said in his defense, rubbing the sore spot on his cheek where his wife's small hand had made contact.

“That's bloody long enough!”

“You neglected to mention that there was a plan that might involve you faking your own suicide, Sherlock.” John said as he pushed himself away from the door and went to stand closer to his friend.

“I told you, there wasn't enough time to go over all the possibilities. Also, I never imagined I would have to resort to using that particular one, but Moriarty informed me that you, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade were all in danger if I didn't jump off of the building, so I didn't see much of another choice. Besides, now I don't really have to worry about the rest of Scotland Yard coming after me to try and arrest me for all the follies that Moriarty tried to pin me with.”

“Because you're...” John started, but Sherlock finished.

“Dead. Precisely.”

“Sherlock, I thought you really jumped off of that building.” Molly chimed in, trying to shift the conversation in her favor again.”

“Well, I assure you, I did _actually_ jump off of the building. There was just a softer landing waiting for me than what you saw.”

“Did you use some sort of...trampoline or something, to soften the blow? How did you even get everything out of the way before we saw you?”

“It was an air bag, and Mycroft's people are very good.” Sherlock replied, looking down at Molly. All he wanted to do was pull her close to him, kiss her, reassure her that everything was going to be fine now. He wanted all of those things and more, but he remembered what Molly had said on the roof top. If they both survived, they were going to have a talk, presumably about their relationship, and he deduced that it wouldn't end well. She probably wouldn't welcome his affections any more than she'd welcomed the idea that he'd used her as bait.

“I'm glad you're alive, Sherlock. Thank you for saving me, if that's what you accomplished.” John said, giving Sherlock a pat on the shoulder and retreating from the sitting room. “Now if you'll excuse me, I have a stress headache I'd like to try and get rid of.” He left the room, throwing a quick glance back at Molly who was staring at the floor, wondering what she could even say now. She'd been devastated when she thought that Sherlock had killed himself, when she thought that her last words to him were filled with resentment and disappointment. Now that she knew he was okay, though, she felt that she still needed to show him that what he'd done was wrong. Her emotions were raging inside her mind, not letting her think straight, when she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder. She looked up to realize that Sherlock was standing very close to her, pulling her in gently with his strong hands.

“Molly,” He started, his voice low and soft, apologetic almost. “I know you're cross with me, and you have every right to be. What I did was wrong, using you like that. I knew that from the very beginning, but I was also very confident that I would be able to stop Moriarty if I went through with it. Ask John the next time you see him, he'll tell you how much of a wreck I was while I was trying to plan out exactly how to rescue you and dispose of the scum that was James Moriarty. I only want you to understand that what I did, I did with love in mind. I couldn't bare to see you hurt any more, always wondering when he would strike again. Knowing that you were safe was a good enough reason to risk betraying your trust.”

“I don't know what to say, Sherlock.” Molly answered, struggling to meet her husband's gaze. “You lied to me, put me in harm's way, almost got me killed. The least you could have done was let me in on what you were trying to do. I would have gladly agreed to help you, but instead, you went behind my back.”

“It was paramount that you didn't have any knowledge of my plan. He was able to read people so well. I have every confidence in you, Molly, but I couldn't risk him seeing through your act and ruining everything. I only wanted to give you the happiness you deserve.”

“It's going to take a lot to earn my trust again.” Molly said, shuffling a bit closer. She knew what he was saying was true. Moriarty was dangerous because of his intellect, letting other people in on the plans he'd made was dangerous, but she couldn't help but feel betrayed. However, no matter how betrayed she felt, she couldn't help being happy that Sherlock was alive. She didn't want to leave him, she wanted to be happy with him, she wanted to go on living their lives without the constant threat of Moriarty looming over them, and it seemed that she finally had that chance.

“I understand.” Sherlock replied, wrapping both of his arms around her waist and pulling her tightly against him.

“I'm so glad you're alright.” Molly pressed her forehead to Sherlock's chest, her arms now resting around his broad shoulders. She pushed herself up on her tip toes and placed a gentle kiss on his lips, which quickly turned into something more passionate before she found herself pushed up against the wall of the sitting room. “Don't ever do that again.”

“Molly Holmes, I am never leaving your side again.” Sherlock said before he swept her off of her feet and carried her through the hall way to the bedroom they shared, knowing that his wife and friends had been made safe because of his efforts. Everything that had happened was in the past now, and Sherlock was looking forward to a very bright, very satisfying future ahead.

 


End file.
